


Sit Together, Now & Forever

by ladydragona, SylviaW1991



Series: Simply Meant to Be [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Nightmare Before Christmas Fusion, BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Manipulation, Halloween Town (Nightmare Before Christmas), M/M, Minor Body Horror, Mutual Pining, We wrote this for us but you can read it too, canon compliant death + 1, canon-typical alcohol, crowley is a real big idiot but also full of Love(tm), idiots to lovers, movie typical violence, temporary dismemberment, the body horror is on par with the movie. but tagged just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 53,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27030310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragona/pseuds/ladydragona, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaW1991/pseuds/SylviaW1991
Summary: Crowley, Halloween Town's (mostly) beloved Pumpkin King, has eyes and heart set on Aziraphale, the soft patchwork man the Angels stitched and magicked into existence. Will this Christmas thing he's stumbled upon be the key to finally getting him out from under those oppressive thumbs?Or does he already have that wood wool heart in his hands?It may take a disaster or two to find out.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Simply Meant to Be [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981459
Comments: 242
Kudos: 236
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations, Ixnael’s SFW corner, Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically, Our Own Side





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragona and I saw [ this stunning work](https://saminander.tumblr.com/post/631796499994591232/my-dearest-friend-if-you-dont-mind) and went a little feral  
> Artists inspiring writers and vice versa is a beautiful cycle, so thanks to Saminander!! ❤️

The winged beasts in the eerie, decrepit mansion on the outskirts of town called themselves Halloween Town’s Angels. Aziraphale called them “sir,” “xir,” or “ma’am,” depending on who he was being forced to talk to. In all honesty, he would really rather not. He was tucked in a tower on the Eastern Wing, which was exceedingly far from everywhere he needed to be. Though there were only four so-called Angels, they very literally ran him ragged.

Thankfully, they also kept him supplied quite heavily in fabric. His feet were multi-coloured and well padded. Most of him, actually, was what he would call _well padded_. Gabriel didn’t like the excess fluff, but the cotton, swan feathers, and occasional ball of wood wool that made him soft and sturdy also made him happy. It and the aged books on his shelves. There were less approved books under his mattress, gifts from the town’s resident top demon. He was serpentine in nature and, sometimes, in form. The shapeshifting was a lovely, terrifying feature. Much like his golden eyes, the black slitted pupils and shining colour one of the few things he kept from form to form.

If Aziraphale adored them as much as he did the gifted books, he didn’t say. He wasn’t a fool. He was quite sure that Crowley wouldn’t be interested in continuing to chat with a fussy patchwork being like him if he knew just how deep the affection ran. No, no. Much better to remain as they were. Friends.

Friends who had plans Aziraphale was already late for.

He smiled as he set Gabriel’s bowl in front of him. It had been well over three months since he’d poisoned their food, so the combination of frog’s breath and worm’s wart in their dishes did nothing to rouse suspicion. The deadly nightshade he’d mixed in did its duty beautifully within minutes, four heads thunking against the table, and Aziraphale made his way out the door.

He could, in theory, not return. There was nothing they could really do to keep him in place, nothing they had ever done beyond verbally discouraging him from leaving or locking him in his tower. He imagined they didn’t want him to get ideas about freedom, which was also likely their reasons for restricting his book access. Books had thoughts and feelings, the characters often stitching themselves onto Aziraphale’s mind and helping him make sense of his own problems. He enjoyed that about them.

But the Angels didn’t really have to worry about him leaving forever. Not only did Aziraphale have no idea what he would do without the shelter they provided, they’d created him. He’d been methodically stitched together and his head had been given someone’s mind - sometimes Aziraphale could see flashes of his brain’s old owner’s life, and it seemed quite the lovely existence indeed - and lightning had given him the spark he’d needed to move. They’d given him life and a purpose and a roof over his head in exchange for a few chores. Leaving permanently would be quite rude.

Drugging them and selecting a bottle of wine to take to a friend’s home, however, were not. This was Halloween Town, not Heaven.

With the bottle of red tucked under his arm, Aziraphale strolled into a night thick with anticipation. They were an evening away from their most hallowed night of the year. The mummies were sanding their bandages, the vampires sharpening their fangs, the witches charging their wands and beginning their brews - everyone was preparing their fiercest scares. For the more unkempt they were, the more the human world would revel.

Sometimes, Aziraphale wondered if fear was all there was. Or if it was all there had to be. The Angels would, and had, told him yes in many different ways, and his infrequent visits into the town proper had shown only a bit more than that. There was _enjoyment_ in their terror, hidden behind their snarls, but surely there could be enjoyment in other things? He couldn’t be the only soft thing in Halloween Town.

But like this and any other night wherein he had the opportunity for escape, he didn’t search. He journeyed across foggy streets, under flickering street lamps, beyond eerie shadows which stretched and formed shapes like claws. He strode across creaking wooden bridges over swampy waters, frowned politely at the few beings he came across and was frowned at in return. Street musicians played something morose and slow, instruments tuned either too sharp or too flat. They were _very_ talented.

“Dreadful,” he complimented, tamping down the smile that tried so hard to make itself known, and the saxophonist sent him a small salute of acknowledgement. 

Finally, a terrible abandoned-looking building came into view. His frown turned into a delighted gasp, the heels of his brogues clicking over cobblestones as he added some pep to his step. The doorbell hissed and rattled when he reached it, Aziraphale’s polite frown unable to hold against a bright, far more sincere smile when the click of far too many locks reached his ears.

He wiggled when the door swung open, creaking on its hinges. “Hello, my dear!”

“You’re late, angel. Kept me waiting almost half an hour here. What were you doing? Replacing your stuffing?” Crowley said as he swung the door open, leaning against the frame and crossing his ankles. A lazy grin spreading across his face at the sight of Aziraphale.

It was the sort of smile that made beings feel as if they were unfortunate mice before a predator, his fangs glinting sharply. Aziraphale found it charming. “Pish-posh. I'm sure you kept yourself quite busy. Sandalphon had me greasing his wheels again.” He shuddered, the chore truly unpleasant since the often flaming things were _attached_ to the wicked creature. “I brought a _lovely_ vintage to make up for it, though.”

Crowley gave a mock pout at Aziraphale’s complaints. He often thought the horrid creatures who'd created his friend ran him a bit too ragged, but Aziraphale never failed to express his feeling indebted to them so he'd learned to keep his mouth shut. Even if he didn’t want to.

“Well don’t just stand out here, then. Night’s a wastin’,” Crowley said and ushered Aziraphale in with a dramatic flourish.

“I was waiting to be dragged in against my will,” he teased, passing Crowley the wine as he entered. The exterior may have looked one strong wind away from collapsing, but the interior was sturdy. Largely barren and quite cold, dark walls and heavy velvet curtains - it all added up to a rather dramatic setting, in Aziraphale’s opinion. The parlour they usually settled in was no different, though there was at least furniture. None of it was even moth-eaten. 

He settled on the edge of a stiff black armchair, beaming as he watched Crowley step out to fetch glasses. In this home, they likely wouldn't even be chipped. Not since his jaw had come off, anyway. It was nice not to fear catching a stray string on sharp edges. “Have you got something truly wicked in mind for tomorrow night?” 

Crowley took the time it took to retrieve his best wine glasses ( _only_ the best for Aziraphale) to get the blush caused by his teasing under control. “You know how it is,” he called from the kitchen. “Everyone loves the ‘Big Evil Snake’ act.”

He returned to the parlour with two fresh glasses dangling precariously from his long fingers, glad to see Aziraphale already getting comfortable.

“Not that I want to ruin the surprise,” Crowley said as he poured for the both of them, “but I was thinking I could pop out of the fountain in the square this time. What do you think?”

Aziraphale hummed, taking his glass when it was offered and trying not to dwell on how nice he found the coolness of Crowley’s fingers when they brushed. “I think it sounds tickety-boo. Or, ah... Well, you know what I mean, dear fellow. Are you going to slither your way through the pipes?” 

“'Tickety-boo,'” Crowley mumbled as he set himself into a sprawl across the sharp square shaped sofa opposite Aziraphale’s armchair. “Nah, you know how disgusting those pipes get. Can’t remember the last time we sent someone down there to clean ‘em out.” If they ever had. “No, I was thinking I'd have ‘em dump me in there wrapped in my last shed like a mummy and burst out all snake-like.”

Crowley, Aziraphale thought with no small amount of cheer, was the only being he could imagine being off put by the filth in the fountain pipes. And he liked to think Crowley appreciated actually being able to share those opinions and not be judged for them. “Sounds truly frightening,” he encouraged with a smile. “Will The Them help you again this year? If you're wrapped up and then in the fountain, I can't imagine Brian's, ah, excessive slime would be an issue.”

“You would be surprised at how water-proof whatever drips off him is,” Crowley said with a shudder. “But yeah they are. Even if I told the little buggers ‘no’ they’d find a way to get themselves involved anyhow. Might as well indulge ‘em and keep ‘em busy with tasks I can manage myself. Don’t need a repeat of last year where they had Ol’ Shadwell tied to a tree. Don’t think I’ll ever hear the end of that one.”

Blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “Particularly since Young Shadwell seemed to rather enjoy it.”

Crowley gagged and shuddered again. “Erg, no. Absolutely not. Thank the powers that be Tracy was on hand when I discovered him, or I would have just left him there. Don’t need those sights and sounds in my nightmares at night. At least Old Shadwell had the decency to be properly embarrassed,” he rubbed his hands over his eyes in futile hope to scrub the image of Mayor Shadwell writhing against a tree from his mind.

Aziraphale’s giggle was too shiny and bright for the darkly decorated parlour. “Thankfully, Madame Tracy knows how to handle him. Er. Both of him,” he clarified, never entirely certain how to go about addressing their two-faced, single-bodied mayor. “Regardless, it would be much better for you to utilize The Them’s talents and spare the, ah, unsuspecting.”

“Yeah, we’ll just let me be their chosen victim eh? Would you come save me if I was the one tied to a tree, angel?” Crowley asked, insufficiently hiding a flirtatious grin behind his glass.

Dropping his gaze to his own glass, Aziraphale watched the red liquid swirl. “Perhaps. If I was between chores.”

Crowley had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something unwanted about Aziraphale’s ‘chores,’ instead opting to take a long drink. “Well, if it ever happens, I hope it’s on a day you’re not too busy. Might lose my crown if the town thought I got hoodwinked by a bunch of kids.”

Though it was well-known that one of those kids could be crowned Pumpkin King without hesitation if he ever proved to want it. Something about the humanlike Adam - with his cherubic face and penchant for mischievous grins - made him a very likely successor.

Aziraphale sipped from his glass, failing to hide a smile. “Don’t fret, my dear. You’d still be Pumpkin King to me.”

“Fretting? Who’s fretting? I don’t fret,” Crowley grumbled and hid his embarrassed blush in his glass. “Just don’t think Adam’s ready for the responsibility is all. It’s a lot of work having to coordinate and plan and come up with all the ideas for every Halloween. Speaking of which, those bastards are going to let you come this year, yeah?”

He remembered the previous year they’d locked Aziraphale in his tower, causing him to miss almost the entire night. Crowley had worked hard this year to come up with something that might sweep him off his feet and didn’t want all his effort to go to waste. Nor did he want to think about him missing the most important night of the year in general. The whole town came out to celebrate.

“Oh...” Aziraphale lowered his glass and looked towards the window, watching a barren tree branch ominously wave its splintered ends. It was a comforting sort of sight. “Perhaps I won’t need to sneak out. Even custom built servants should be able to join in the festivities, shouldn’t they?” Nevermind that it had never been permitted in the past. Being locked in his tower or given a full list of duties wasn’t unusual, but he did always make an escape. He made himself turn back to Crowley, smile back in place. “I wouldn’t want to miss your grand finale.”

He really didn’t like Aziraphale calling himself a servant, but that was an old argument full of high emotion and stilted conversation that Crowley was not willing to go down this night. “No, you really don’t. I expect it to be quite terrifying. Maybe even beat my record of ‘Causing Most Faints.’ I think last year I had seventy-four.”

Seventy-six, but who really remembered those things? Certainly not Aziraphale, no. He took a drink and shrugged delicately. “If I do miss it, you’ll tell me how it goes, won’t you?”

“‘Course I will.” Crowley said softly. “We’re friends, yeah?” _Friends_. The word was like ash in his mouth even as he knew he should be glad to have even that much of Aziraphale’s time. Despite how busy the Angels kept him, Aziraphale always made an effort to make time for Crowley and actually treated him like a regular person and not just ‘The Pumpkin King’ like most of the rest of Halloween Town.

Aziraphale joked with him, teased him, talked about more than just ‘preparations for next Halloween’ with him, and seemed to genuinely enjoy his company.

And Crowley knew he should have been satisfied with that, but being the covetous, greedy thing that he was, he wanted more. Unfortunately, when one has only ever had the single friend in one’s long life, not to mention lack of romantic pursuits, figuring out how to take that next step could be a daunting task.

It certainly could be. “Yes, of course.” Aziraphale was quite certain that was all Crowley wanted from him. Silly, soft, out-of-place him and their Pumpkin King? It was ludicrous. The imaginative serpent was certainly kind - however much he’d hate that - for humouring his eccentricities, but he wasn’t foolish enough to hold out hope of more, of ever discovering what it might be like to be held - safe, wanted - in Crowley’s coils. “But we’ll hope it doesn’t come to that. I’ve gotten rather good at escaping, I’d say.”

“That you have,” Crowley said with a grin, pulling himself out of the temporary melancholy. “What was it this time? Blunt force trauma? Waxing the floors so thoroughly they fall on their arses? No, wait, that was last month.”

Perhaps he shouldn’t have felt such delight at some of Halloween Town’s oldest citizens experiencing such hardship, but Crowley hadn’t liked them much even before Aziraphale came into the picture and certainly didn’t like them at all after witnessing how they treated his friend.

“I beg your pardon. I would never _over_ wax the floors. I used the appropriate amount.” He simply hadn't told anyone, and it had rained the same day. And it was hardly his fault that no one tread lightly near the stairs. “No, tonight there was merely a mixup with dinner. Gabriel said he was tired, you see, and my hand slipped adding nightshade to his serving. It's dreadful when unexpected ingredients slip into cauldrons, isn't it?” 

Crowley threw his head back, howling with laughter and almost spilling his wine all over his lap. “Ha! Of- of course you did, you utter _bastard_. How dare I imply you do such things on purpose?” He attempted to stifle his cackles in order to take a drink but was failing spectacularly. “I’m sure something equally as disastrous will befall them again tomorrow,” Crowley said, serpent eyes twinkling with delight and barely contained affection.

He might be a master at coming up with spooks, and Adam’s imagination was something no one could rival, but Aziraphale’s particular brand of chaotic bastardy was one of the many things Crowley absolutely adored about him.

Positively preening at the praise, Aziraphale wiggled in his seat. “Oh, there may very well be an accident. I can be quite clumsy. Sandalphon’s wheels may have been, ah, overly greased.” He seemed to enjoy catching Aziraphale outside of the manor even more than the others, so it was always best to ensure he was dealt with soonest. “Who really knows?”

“Well then, a toast to fortuitous accidents?” Crowley asked, refilling his mostly empty glass and raising it towards Aziraphale. He had to lean more than halfway off the sofa to make sure Aziraphale wouldn’t have to strain to meet him.

“You silly serpent,” he chided, but clinked their glasses together anyway and settled in to enjoy a good bottle of wine and some very welcome company.

He wished, when Crowley suggested opening a second bottle, that the “yes” so ready to tumble off his tongue could do so. It nearly did, but a clock on the wall began to chime. It wasn’t a pretty sound, the cuckoo bird promptly devoured and a snake hissing to mark the time. Aziraphale liked the silly thing. “I’m sorry, my dear. I need to go before they awaken. You know Gabriel already doesn’t like you, so I'd prefer not to be questioned.”

Crowley threw a withering glare at the clock and temporarily contemplated having it turned into wood chips to line some denizen of Halloweens Town’s nest. Not that the show of violence would fix anything, though. It never did. “Yeah, yeah,” Crowley grumbled and lurched inelegantly to his feet. “I would say you could tell him the feeling’s mutual, but I’m sure he already knows.”

He drained what was left in his glass before resigning himself to begrudgingly seeing Aziraphale to the door, desperate to wring out even a few more seconds of time together.

“I’m not so certain. Gabriel doesn’t seem to think anyone actively dislikes him, but I’m not going to tell him otherwise.” No need to make things worse or be outright forbidden from seeing Crowley. It was one thing to know it was frowned on peripherally, but another to actually be told. Hands clasped behind his back, he walked quietly behind the sauntering serpent and fiddled with the ring on his pinky. “I’ll see you tomorrow, my dear. I’m looking forward to your theatrics.”

“Yeah I... I’ll see you there, angel,” Crowley said as he opened the door, biting back all the other things he wanted to say that bubbled to the surface. Things like ‘ _stay a little longer, I won’t mind,_ ’ ‘ _stay with me, I won’t make you do my chores, promise,_ ’ ‘ _you don’t have to go back to them, you can stay here, at my place, if you like_.’ He didn’t say any of that, though, sure it would be neither welcomed nor accepted. He simply bid Aziraphale goodnight and watched him carefully make his down the precarious steps and across the lawn, gold-spun curls lit by the moon like a halo.

If he watched a little longer than was strictly necessary, that was his business.

It was a list rather than locks. Aziraphale eyed it, frowning at each and every time-consuming objective. Organize Michael’s potions bottles by size _and_ function? Potions were hardly his area of expertise and she had dozens. Then sharpen and polish each of Uriel’s swords, as if they needed the attention. Followed by polishing the suits of armour in the Western wing, Sandalphon’s collection overwhelming. The other tasks were simpler, mindless things designed to give him plenty of opportunity to mourn everything he’d be missing in the town proper. Missing Halloween.

Missing Crowley’s performance.

The paper crinkled in his grip, but he made himself take a few deep, steady breaths before smoothing the page back out. They hadn’t said it all needed to be done that night, had they? No. Only that he was expected to complete each item satisfactorily. There hadn’t been a timeframe.

Aziraphale stepped into Michael’s laboratory and nodded at her, watching too many eyes blink back at him in bored disinterest before she strolled out. The heels of her loafers clicked on the floors they expected him to clean, but they hadn’t said when he needed to do that either. Slipping one of the potion reference books off a shelf, he opened it and began to dutifully organize the bottles. He could at least complete _one_ of the tasks, then find Uriel’s dullest of swords and give them a fine sharpening.

And then he’d go.

The crowd was roaring before he made it to Uriel’s armory, their screams and the wails of banshees spilling even to the town outskirts. The town square was likely filled with every being in Halloween Town, participating in the games and competitions and the terrible spreading of fear. The night their town lived for, centered on, and he was _missing_ it. _Again_.

Aziraphale stopped by the front door, hands curling into fists as he gazed at the opulent, oppressive exit. Crowley wanted him there and, so help him, he wasn’t going to let the serpent down. Bugger Uriel’s bloody swords. Lifting his chin, he scurried towards the Eastern Wing to get his favourite outdoor coat rather than his cosy housecoat, and sped outside to join in the revelry.

The shadows were long, the breeze like icy fingers over the back of his neck and pulling at his clothes as he made his way towards town. The music blared, loud and wonderfully out of tune, and drew him in. He kept a cautious eye out for the Angels, avoiding the competition arenas as he had little doubt they’d want to show off every bit of power they had. They always did, after all, even if he was the only one around to witness them.

Overhead, a shadow covered the moon and caused a shiver down nearly every spine. Aziraphale assumed it was nearly every spine, anyway, hardly able to imagine Crowley or even The Them quaking under the manipulation. Creatures of all shapes and sizes riddled the streets, filling it with their version of wicked delight and putrid... somethings. Aziraphale didn’t dare name some of it, but kept his shoes out of the worst bits as he scanned the crowd for the familiar faces of the Them. Who knew if Crowley was already in the fountain?

He slipped out of sight of the vampires, weaved around a rather sizeable family of were-animals, ducked under a sentient tree’s branches, and soaked in the emotions pouring from them all, their excitement palpable. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining the heights of joy all around him or not, but he adored it. He adored the way smiles and laughter were as welcome as the screams on this one night of the year, when fun was valued more than one’s place.

It was reaching some sort of crescendo, though. That, he knew, wasn't in his imagination. That and the sight of The Them as the massive fountain in the center of the town square came into view. The crowds here were packed tight. Anticipation and delight were heavy in the air as they all waited with baited breath to see what sorts of frights their Pumpkin King had come up with this year.

Adam, looking almost like a completely human boy except for the dark paint around his eyes, Pepper, fully transformed into her werewolf self, Brian, in slime soaked robes and leaking a veritable puddle, and Wensleydale, skin vaguely green and in his usual dirty lab coat, were gathered at the cardinal directions of the fountain, waving strange bundles of what smelled like various herbs and chanting in a strange tongue that Aziraphale was certain wasn’t a real language.

Aziraphale ducked behind a nearby building, close enough to still see what was going on but hopefully hidden from the Angels should any of them happen by.

He had to assume Crowley was already in place, seeing as there was no snake-wrapped version of him lying around. Aziraphale was almost sad he’d missed the children carrying him - or dragging, more like - from wherever he had been hidden. Had he thrashed and writhed and made a spectacle of himself? Or had he been limp as death so as to go unnoticed?

When it seemed the festival had reached its fever pitch, or perhaps on some secret signal, The Them threw their bundles into the water, their voices going from simply chanting to screaming wildly. The water of the fountain began to bubble and spew black smoke, quickly blocking out the few torches and lanterns and street lights that had been lit for the festival.

With everything covered in a thick, inky, black it was impossible to see what, exactly, was going on. The screams of The Them were drowned out by the surprised screams of the other festival goers and even Aziraphale gave a gasp at the loss of his vision. This was so much more than simply popping out of the fountain.

Luckily, the complete darkness didn’t last long as great glowing yellow eyes rose from below and pierced through the smoke, causing fresh shrieks and some uncontrollable fainting. Though the terror of the moment was surely resonating with the humans celebrating far away from their town, Aziraphale felt himself grin at the familiar sight of those serpentine eyes. Crowley could be truly frightening when he wanted to be, as evidenced by his title of ‘King of Halloween,’ but he’d never frightened Aziraphale.

Up and up his eyes rose until Crowley let out a hiss, a gust of wind following to chase away the smoke and reveal the four children wrapped in deep black coils. Spilling with what might loosely be called water - the oozing liquid splashing the feet and fins of all those within reach - his coils draped over the edges of the fountain. His serpentine body was much too large to actually fit within the fountain, masses of the deepest black and the bloodiest of red impressively dwarfing the structure.

The children squirmed and beat at Crowley’s scaled tail, crying out for help and pleading to not be eaten. They were helpless, yet Aziraphale was beaming.

Crowley slithered around the fountain to thoroughly encircle it in his coils before, with barely a flick of his tail, he sent the young Adam flying into the air above his head. The boy let out a shriek as he soared over the town.

Aziraphale felt whatever might amount to a heart lurch in his chest. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Crowley would never harm one of the children. Even if he might boast of doing so, it was all bluster and pomp. But that didn’t mean things couldn’t happen by accident, and, when Adam and Crowley put their heads together, things usually got out of hand rather quickly.

Adam’s journey reached its peak as Aziraphale and the still-conscious townsfolk watched, and he began falling fast towards Crowley. He let out another vicious hiss, his tail thumping excitedly. Though it was very likely simply because he was excited about the performance, it could very easily be mistaken for a hungry snake excited about his next meal.

Crowley opened his massive jaws, long fangs gleaming in the low light, as Adam drew nearer and Aziraphale found he couldn’t watch. Had to turn his head away and brace for the sickening crunch of impact.

It, thankfully, didn’t come. Instead the sound of horrified gasps and yells filled the air and Aziraphale peaked from behind his hand to see Crowley writhing in the air with Adam held safely in his mouth. Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief, knowing Crowley would never forgive himself if something terrible happened to the boy because of him.

Nothing did happen to him, thankfully, or to the other children in Crowley’s coils. Instead, cheers and applause rose up from the crowd. The Them were set loose and those impossible coils shrank and shifted and left a tall, slender redhead in their wake. He looked so very proud of himself, grinning as Mayor Shadwell congratulated him - both young and old sides vying for a moment of his time until Tracy was able to diffuse the situation.

Aziraphale lifted a hand to his chest, sighing quietly and leaning against the building. Admirers flocked to him, a chorus of “Happy Halloween!” ringing out. And wasn’t it just? Even though the town clock had officially reset to begin the countdown for the next year, the revelers still weren’t done wishing one another well and enjoying themselves.

When Mayor Shadwell shouted about prizes through a megaphone Tracy handed him, attention began to shift and Aziraphale realised those golden eyes had found him. He didn’t hide his bright grin, lifting a hand to wave at him. For a moment, he thought Crowley might come his way, but the thought of prizes hadn’t distracted _everyone_ from the impressive serpent.

While wondering if it would be too bold to approach him instead, when so many other beings were showering Crowley with the praise he deserved, or if his presence would possibly be welcomed, his wrist was grabbed. “Aziraphale,” Sandalphon snarled, the spinning wheels around his legs too wet to do more than spark. Oh. He hadn’t intended to render him nonflammable, but the tight grip was rather uncalled for. 

“Sandalphon, I-”

“ _You_ are supposed to be completing your duties.”

“Yes, well...” His excuses dried up on his tongue, Sandalphon’s stern tone and harsh tug making him stumble in more than one way. “It’s Halloween,” he tried anyway.

“That’s not your concern. You think you’re frightening enough to even matter? Your presence won’t be missed one way or another.”

Aziraphale stared at him, letting himself be dragged along a few stumbling steps before he pushed up his sleeve and wrenched a string loose. His arm came away easily with Sandalphon’s yanking, the loss of a counterbalance and his over-greased wheels throwing him to the ground whilst Aziraphale made a hasty retreat.

The full moon’s light glinted onto his bright curls as he ducked into an alleyway, empty sleeve flapping in the freezing wind and eyes painfully dry because he refused, simply _refused_ , to allow Sandalphon to upset him to the point of tears. He already knew he wasn’t particularly frightening. He already knew he didn’t particularly fit. He already knew he could be replaced as easily as he’d been created.

He didn’t like to dwell on any of it, though. He didn’t like the reminders.

And surely if he wasn’t out of place with the Pumpkin King himself, he wasn’t _truly_ that wrong here. Surely not.

Though he yelped like a frightened human when he felt a fresh tug on his empty sleeve right on the outskirts of the cemetery. Until he saw who’d done the tugging. “ _Crowley_!”

“Angel,” Crowley breathed, glad to have caught up to him.

He’d looked down for just a second to tell Tracy he was leaving, but when he’d looked back Aziraphale was disappearing around a corner. At first he’d wondered if Aziraphale hadn’t liked it, and that’s why he was leaving so soon, but then Adam had pulled him out of the crowd and shoved him towards the alley Aziraphale had vanished in. Being told “Go after him you idiot,” was the final kick in the pants he’d needed to do just that.

“Didn’t know if I’d catch up to you.”

“If I’d known you were following, dear fellow, I would’ve slowed.” Aziraphale couldn’t wring his hands together as he was wont to do, but he could fiddle with the cufflink of his empty sleeve. “I assumed you’d stay for the awards. I’m quite certain that performance won you several.”

Crowley shrugged. He was sure it had, but more than half his study was devoted to displaying awards. He’d even had to start throwing some of them away if he didn’t want them spilling out into the rest of the house. “Mm, yeah probably. I’m sure Shadwell will be more than happy to accept them on my behalf and drop them off tomorrow.” His eyes caught onto Aziraphale’s usual nervous ticks, finally noticing he wasn’t quite as whole as he should be. “Hang on, what happened to your arm?”

“Oh... I'm afraid I wasn't as diligent as I ought to be. Sandalphon caught me, but I wasn't quite ready to go back to the manor with him.” He looked up, smile weak. “I had to allow him to take a piece.”

“You- He-” Crowley had to choke back the first few things he wanted to say as white hot rage settled in his gut and filled his fangs with deadly venom. He knew these things happened, of course, but the fact that Aziraphale’s own creators, the ones who should have cared to keep him safe and whole, would force him to lose pieces of himself if he did not satisfy their every whim made Crowley want to dually destroy everything in his path as well as wrap Aziraphale in his coils and never allow it to happen again.

That he could do neither without risking their delicate friendship was frustrating to an immeasurable degree.

Eventually he settled on saying, “Need help getting it back?”

“Oh, no. This is hardly the first time, my dear. If he decides not to return my arm, I'll simply fashion a new one. But I do have quite the list of things to complete, so I'm sure Gabriel will make him return it.” Aziraphale tucked the empty sleeve into his pocket to prevent any loss of cotton. “It doesn't even hurt. I'm hardly more substantial than stuffing and fabric anyway.”

Crowley bit back his disagreement; he thought Aziraphale was quite substantial, thank you very much. Soft and round in all the right places, perfect to wrap around and squeeze. Not that he would say as much out loud. “Well, if you can’t get it back, you let me know. Sure I can find the material you need.”

“It's alright, Crowley, truly. I have everything I need in my room. You shouldn't be worrying about me anyway. You should be celebrating.” Though the concern was almost unbearably sweet, more likely to bring tears to his eyes than Sandalphon's cruelty. “You were magnificent.”

Crowley preened as if he were a peacock instead of a snake. “You really liked it, then?” The praise from Aziraphale meant so much more than the praise from the rest of the town.

“Oh, of course.” Aziraphale reached out and lightly touched his arm, smile brightening. “I had no idea you could toss Adam so high, and having your eyes appear in the darkness as they did was inspired. They're such a striking feature.”

“Ngk.” Crowley flushed and squirmed in place, trying not to seem too affected by the touching and the compliments and the attention while also wanting to soak it up like a parched flower. “Ngh, well, mm, you know, can’t take all the, er, credit. The eye stuff-thing was mine, ‘course. But Adam - he, er, came up with the tossing.” He reached up and cautiously touched the back of Aziraphale’s cloth hand. “‘M really glad you liked it.”

“Oh...” Aziraphale pulled his hand away in surprise, fingers fluttering when he couldn't wring his hands together, and it ended up in his pocket. Goodness. “I- I very much did. Would you... care to stroll through the graveyard with me? Just for a bit. I'll need to head back shortly.”

As if Crowley would ever say ‘no’ to spending more time with Aziraphale. “I’d be delighted, angel.” He had to fold away the slight twinge of hurt at Aziraphale recoiling from his touch and thought it better not to offer his arm. It wasn’t that sort of stroll. Instead, he nodded his head towards Spiral Hill, hoping that farther from town would mean they were less likely to run into late night revelers.

Smile returning at the easy agreement, Aziraphale walked with him. Beyond the tombstones and up the narrow hill, the moon nearly blinding in its brightness. “What's your favourite bit of the holiday, Crowley?” 

He couldn't say ‘you,’ which was the answer at the tips of his forked tongue. “Er, well, I guess it would have to be seeing everyone so delighted with the spooks we came up with this year. You know, before I was Pumpkin King, I used to join in with everyone else to make it the best Halloween it could be. Don’t get me wrong, I like this gig, lets me do my own thing, but it’s still fun to get in the middle with everyone and build off their scary ideas to make it truly frightening.” Feeling mischievous, Crowley lengthened his strides to walk ahead, not that it was difficult to do, being so much taller than Aziraphale, and turned around on his heel to walk backwards, stepping easily over a gravestone. “What about you? What part of the holiday do you like best?”

 _This_ , he nearly said. Crowley was more blinding than moonlight, the ends of vibrant hair catching fire in the golden hue, and his eyes brilliant in shadow. “It's silly,” Aziraphale said instead. 

“Oi, here I go spillin’ my guts, and you can’t even give me something to work with?” Crowley replied in a teasing tone.

“Oh, you wily serpent.” Aziraphale wiped his hand on his trousers, warming the palm and soothing his nerves. “I suppose... Well, I rather like the- the cheer. All of those good feelings everyone hides away all year. Everyone smiles and laughs freely on Halloween, and it's wonderful. I wish there could be more cheerful nights like this.” The joy they took in being themselves, just one day a year, was infectious. He hadn’t felt out of place at all until he’d been grabbed. “Now don't you dare make fun of me for it either.”

Crowley grinned. “I wouldn’t dare. S’long as you don’t make fun of mine. You really think they're ‘cheery?’ On Halloween? Point’s supposed to be spooked, not cheery.” He frowned exaggeratedly and thought about it, missing the way Aziraphale’s shoulders tensed. “Think I’m not doing a good enough job spookin’? Need to up my game a bit?”

“N-no, I-” Aziraphale stopped, Sandalphon's harsh words too fresh in his mind to hear the light tease in the words. Instead, he only heard that he’d missed the point. That he enjoyed the wrong things. “I know it's an odd thing to enjoy. I don't need you or anyone else reminding me that I don't truly belong here.” Hurt, he turned on his heel to go. “I need to return home now, Crowley. Goodnight.”

“Wha- _Ack_!” Crowley yelped, heel caught on an unseen grave. He tumbled over it, landing on his arse in the loamy soil. “Ow! _Fuck_! Wait! Angel!” He scrambled back to his feet, climbing over graves and tripping over his own feet to catch up with Aziraphale.

He kept his head down, clutching his coat since he couldn’t clutch at his own hand. “Please leave me be, Crowley. I shouldn't dilly-dally on my chores, and I would rather like my arm back.”

Crowley froze, hand outstretched, and watched as Aziraphale weaved his way between gravestones and barren trees. “I don’t- Angel- What did I say?” he asked the air, arm falling back to his side as Aziraphale disappeared through the rusty gate to scurry back into town.

He thought about following him again. Marching up and demanding to know what it was he’d said that was wrong. Or maybe apologize, beg Aziraphale to not go.

In the end, he decided neither of those things would be welcome. He would respect Aziraphale’s request for space; someone had to if the Angels wouldn’t. Besides, they’d been friends for years and had had much worse arguments.

Not that he’d call this an argument. More like a miscommunication, maybe? Apparently, he’d missed _something_.

With a sigh Crowley turned away from Halloween Town and headed deeper into the cemetery. Not ready quite yet to face the winding down celebrations and adoring townsfolk congratulating him on a ‘Halloween well done.’ For the first time in his capacity as Pumpkin King, it didn’t _feel_ ‘well done.’ What was the point of winning all those awards if the performance didn't do what he’d intended? Sweep Aziraphale off his feet, swoon into Crowley’s waiting arms (or coils, he wasn’t _that_ picky), and ride off into the moonlight… or something like that, anyway. Not like he’d spent much time thinking about it. Nope. Not him.

He eventually made it to the top of Spiral Hill. The cemetery that surrounded most of Halloween Town spread out behind him, a full moon round and bright in the sky, and the Infernal Woods rising up large and foreboding at the far edge of the graveyard.

Normally, he loved this spot. Isolated, quiet, the perfect place when one needed to think, or practice throwing and catching mischievous children. Him and The Them were the only ones who ever came out this far, usually, most of the other townsfolk content to live their lives within the town and nearby area. The cemetery was for larks or lovers or greeting the occasional new habitant.

A small white figure moving rapidly towards the woods, almost glowing in the moonlight against the grey and darker grey landscape, caught his attention and distracted him from reverie. Squinting in an attempt to puzzle out what, exactly, he was seeing, a sharp _yip_ solved it before his eyes could.

Crowley scowled. It was Adam’s little ghostly mutt, Dog.

He glanced around the area. Usually if Dog was nearby, Adam was not far behind, but there was no other movement nor any other sign of Adam and his troublemaking friends.

Groaning, knowing that if something happened to Dog Adam would be beside himself, Crowley marched into the woods planning a full lecture on responsibility and taking care of your things once he returned the pup to its master. He just had to track the mutt down first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find us on tumblr at [SylWritesStuff](https://sylwritesstuff.tumblr.com/) and [theladydrgn](https://theladydrgn.tumblr.com/)! 💖


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Syl  
> Thanks so much for the wonderful response to our first chapter! 💖  
> The current plan is to update this every two days or so until Halloween 🎃  
> ladydragona  
> Honestly your love for this silly little thing that lodged itself in our brains is delightful!  
> Please enjoy more idiots pining ;D

The manor door felt heavier than normal with only one arm available with which to push, and it creaked ominously. He only sighed at the sound, still feeling dismayed. He didn’t understand that wily serpent sometimes. In one breath, he'd promised not to make fun and then had demanded an explanation in the next? Grinning and making light of something he’d teased out of Aziraphale in the first place.

Sometimes, he truly believed that Crowley understood him. Yet other times... Well, other times. But it was his own fault, certainly. He was a silly thing, and he’d been designed that way. Given a bookseller’s brain, soft enough to match his soft body, and nothing at all to make him frightening. He had no claws, no sharp teeth - nothing at all for him to be perceived as a threat worthy of their town.

When would the bloody Pumpkin King ever understand what it was like to always be wrong? To be told he was wrong by his own creators _on purpose_? Built to serve and nothing more. 

Flames crackled in the main parlour as he walked by, and Aziraphale stilled. Oh, dear. Blowing out a slow sigh, he forced himself to ignore his mounting dread and looked over. Eyes, wings, wheels, and flames filled his vision - the four beings regarding him cooly. He swallowed.

“Good of you to return, Aziraphale.” Gabriel's smile was genial, but filled with sharp teeth. It didn't fill Aziraphale with the same amount of bubbly charm as Crowley’s smile did. No, indeed. 

By morning, Aziraphale was finished with Uriel’s swords and moving on to the Western wing to begin polishing suits of armour - some of the sentient ones could be terrible bullies - and the rest of the town was back to their sullen frowns and hidden cheer.

The mayor and his assistant, meanwhile, were strolling up to the Pumpkin King’s house with scrolls and a basket of trophies and medals between them. Young Shadwell was in charge, still not willing to entirely be rid of his cheer from the night before and the older half decidedly not a morning person. He smiled easily at Tracy, the witch shaking her head fondly. “Oh, Mr. S, how fiendish.”

“Aye,” he agreed at Crowley’s door, reaching out to push the doorbell. It hissed and rattled threateningly, but no one came to the door so he rang it again. The rattle this time was louder, the hiss the sort of threatening sound that could reduce men to weak quivering in the dark.

“Now, Mr. S, don’t go ringing it again. The poor dear might just be asleep.”

“Asleep?!” His head swiveled, the older face twisted into a scowl. “Dinnae what ‘e thinks ‘e’s up to, still asleep at this time o’ mornin’.”

Tracy gave him the same indulgent pout she always did, her patience as endless as her potion cabinet. “I’m sure he was up very late celebrating his night, Mr. Shadwell. He did win quite a few awards, didn’t he? Broke his own record on most faintings caused _and_ longest scream, didn’t he? A night like that doesn’t go uncelebrated.”

Shadwell reached out and pressed his thumb against the doorbell, holding it there and letting the rattles and hisses multiply until a rather angry-looking mechanical snake burst out of the awning overhead and tried to take a bite out of Shadwell’s hat. Affronted by the sheer display of disrespect, he swatted the metal beast away with his hat until it coiled back up to the awning and began to bang on the door.

“Ye best open this door, ye hear me?! Ye great bleedin’ serpent! We’ve plans to start, ye ken!”

Whilst he harassed Crowley’s front door, Tracy looked around and smiled when she caught sight of a leathery, pale creature. Not quite a swamp thing and not quite a snake, the bespectacled lizard-man watched from his rickety porch next door as he collected his newspaper. The teeth marks in it were probably from Pepper if this had been her route for the day. “Coo-ee, dear!” she greeted.

“Oh, erm, good morning Madame Tracy. You aren’t looking for Crowley, are you?” The lizard man, Newton, waved back at the Madame and adjusted his perpetually lopsided glasses.

“As a matter of fact, we are! I suspect he had a raucous night.”

Newton frowned as much as a lizard-man with no lips could and scratched a clawed hand across his scaly cheek. “Erm, can’t say that I noticed anything. Anathema and I came home pretty quickly after the awards last night and I went right to bed. I think she stayed up to clean out her cauldron and store her herbs… Just a mo’.”

He turned around and stuck his head into the dark interior. “Ana?! Could you come ‘ere a sec?” Newton called into the house. His shouted question was followed by a series of crashes and bangs until a young woman appeared at the door wearing black witches robes and a pointed hat that sat precariously on top of her long curly hair.

“What’s going on, Newt? You know I’m in the middle of bewitching my broom.”

Newt motioned towards Tracy. “Looking for Crowley. Want to know if he came home last night. I told her I went to sleep right away so I hadn’t seen him but you stayed up so-”

Anathema patted his shoulder. “I think I got it, hun. Sorry, Madame Tracy. I was up most of the night collecting moon water, but I never saw him return.” She gave the Madame an apologetic look.

“Not at all, dear. Thank you.” She laid a hand on Shadwell’s shoulder, distracting him from the door he was about to put a hole in and the mechanical serpent about to snake down and snap again. “You two keep your eyes peeled. If he’s not at home, who knows where he could be?”

Young Shadwell winked. “Could be anywhere, Tracy. Plenty o’ admirers to choose from.”

“Oh, you.”

Newton and Anathema shared a concerned look. “Er, I’ve lived next to Crowley for years and he hardly ever has guests. I can’t imagine who he might have stayed with…” said Newt. 

Anathema elbowed him in the arm. “There is one person who visits frequently.”

“Oh, right: Aziraphale.” Newt's shiver had little to do with the chilly autumn breeze. “But he wasn’t even at the festival, was he?”

“He didn’t come by the cauldron the coven and I set up, so I don’t know.” Anathema shrugged.

“Who’s Aziraphale?” Young Shadwell wondered.

“Is that the patchwork man from the Angels' estate? More treat than trick, I think.”

“That’s right. I’ve been meaning to ask the Angels how they made him, it must have been quite the feat of magic,” Anathema said wistfully.

Newt stared at her, slightly horrified. “Ana!”

“What? I just want to know what sort of spell they used to make him so life-like. And so _evil_. The way he always wants to smile, how _calm_ he is?” She shivered herself. “I don't know how Crowley handles being around him so much.”

That was interesting information for Tracy to tuck away, intrigued. “In any case, dears, we’d best be on our way. Need to start spreading the word. Could be he fell in the lake.” He wouldn’t be the first to drown. Really, it wouldn’t even be _Crowley’s_ first time drowning. The lake did have its ways. “Have a dreary day,” she wished, tugging on Shadwell’s arm as he couldn’t seem to make up his mind as to, well, which mind to use. Poor thing’s head was liable to start spinning in earnest, and she very much didn’t want to have to screw it back on again.

“Get back here, you stupid mutt!” Crowley snarled, climbing over a fallen tree and just catching a glimpse of a wisp of a transparent tail disappearing behind a thorny bush. He’d been chasing said ‘stupid mutt’ all night and was of half a mind to just leave the dead thing to get lost. Surely there were _other_ dead dogs Adam would be more than happy to have. Ones that actually listened to irate Pumpkin Kings.

He shifted into his snake form for the umpteenth time just this morning to slither under the bush without ruining his clothes. He _liked_ this particular suit, thank you very much.

Dog just yipped happily at the sight of him appearing from under the thorns and bounced off, very happy to have someone to play chase with who was fast enough to keep up with him.

Crowley shifted back into a mostly-humanoid shape with a growl. He’d stopped actually running after Dog the first time he’d gotten close enough to grab it and the little ghost mutt had just phased right through his fingers. He’d temporarily forgotten that ghosts were incorporeal. At some time around six A.M. he’d been reduced to begging while the excitable pup and ran circles around his kneeling self. Thankfully, dead dogs told no tales so it wasn’t like anyone back in town would ever know of this disgrace.

He probably should have been less surprised at this turn of events, considering Dog had listened to no one except for Adam ever since the kid had patted it’s grave on his first tour of the cemetery and the little ghost had hopped right out of the soil, yipping at his feet and tugging at his shoe laces. Adam said it’s name was Dog and that had been that. It was still a mystery how, exactly, Adam had done it.

“You know, Dog, with how much trouble you’re giving me it would be easier if I just hired a necromancer back home to reanimate a skeleton dog. At least they could guarantee it would _LISTEN TO ME_!”

Dog just barked at Crowley’s feet and then raced off again.

Crowley rubbed at his face and eyes. He was exhausted, more than exhausted, and surely by now Mayor Shadwell would have worked himself into a head turning frenzy wondering where he was. They had next Halloween’s plans to start on after all and Shadwell and Tracy always showed up bright and early at his door the morning following Halloween.

He could go back, he _should_ go back, but Dog was barking insistently just around the next tree and the thought of returning to town without having come up with a way to make things up to Aziraphale was unthinkable.

Because hours of wandering the woods, hot on the trail of a ghostly dog, had given him enough time to think, despite the frustrating circumstances. Aziraphale had said he wanted “cheer” and “joy,” and Crowley wasn’t sure how he was going to do that yet. It wasn’t exactly part of his repertoire, but he’d rather be turned into snake-skin shoes than let Aziraphale down. He just had to figure out how to get more of those “good feelings” Aziraphale had gone on about.

With a sigh, he sauntered around the nearby tree. “Come on, Dog. Don’t you think it’s time to go home? Play time's ov- oh? What’s this?”

Crowley blinked slowly around the clearing Dog was chasing his tail in. Several trees were evenly spaced in a circle, but that wasn’t the interesting part. Each of them had a complicated design carved and painted on their trunks: a strawman, a bright multi-coloured egg, a pink and red heart, a green shamrock, a candelabra with space for nine candles, and a colourfully decorated tree.

“What did you find, Dog?” 

Dog paused in his Very Important tail chase to run up to Crowley’s feet and yip.

“Yeah,” Crowley responded. “I’ve never seen this place either.” His eyes bouncing from tree to tree, taking in the bright colours and strange decorations. “What do you think they are?”

Let it not be said that Crowley was not a curious sort. Questioning and wondering and trying new things had been how he’d achieved his lofty title and held onto it for all these years despite Gabriel's frequent challenges. He allowed his feet to carry him to the tree that seemed most unusual: the one decorated with a spiky green tree coloured with red and gold and silver accents. He reached out to poke at one of the red baubles carved into it and as his finger brushed the smoothly sanded wood, there was a click and the odd little tree swung towards him as if on hinges.

Crowley yelped and jumped back, hissing and sputtering as a cold breeze blew through the opening it created. Realising nothing else seemed ready to come at him, Crowley cautiously slunk forward again, scenting the air with his forked tongue.

Moisture, cold, and something sweet and cloying wafted from the dark hole.

He peeked his head inside. “Hellooooo?” His voice echoed down a dark tunnel and he flinched back at something cold and wet landing on the tip of his nose.

As he did so, attempting to stumble back, a great wind rose from within the tree, tugged at his clothes with an icy grip. Crowley yelped again and tried to backpedal but the wind grasped his wrists and yanked more forcefully.

“Oi! Let go of me!” Crowley yelled, but the wind did not listen to him, his feet lost traction on the hard packed dirt of the clearing, and he tumbled into the icy depths, the garishly decorated tree closing behind him with a snap.

“What the fuuuuuuuuck!” Crowley screamed as he fell, the air growing colder and strange white specks blowing around him.

He wondered, faintly, if he would fall forever. Had he triggered some devious trap of a Pumpkin King long past? Perhaps something he, himself, should have thought of. Pretty brilliant, you ask him. 

But just as he was starting to come to terms with his new reality, he landed deep in something very soft, very cold, and very wet. He gasped, clawing his way out of the frozen fluff he’d landed in.

“Bloody _hell_ , it’s cold. F-f-freezing,” Crowley grumbled, his body giving a violent shiver. He would need to find somewhere warm fast if he didn’t want to go into a coma-like sleep. Snakes and cold did not mix.

He took a quick look around his new surroundings. The fuck? The _fuck_? There was white shit _everywhere_! He stared out over the expansive sea of glittering white surrounding him. Despite the cold and the wet and whatever it was that had pulled him here, the soft tranquil sight filled him with an odd sense of peace. There was a dark forest off in the distance, past the smooth white sea, with trees that looked strangely familiar.

Crowley was of half a mind to march into it and get out of this cold white nonsense, no matter how… _nice_ it looked. Disturbing the smooth expanse between him and the trees with his footprints sounded like a delightful thing to do, but the flashing multicoloured lights from behind him had his head turning to discover the cause.

He gasped at the sight - strings of rainbow lights strung from red brick building to red brick building lit up an entire town. Little people scurried about carrying piles of brightly wrapped boxes, waving and calling to one another happily.

Nearly forgetting he was freezing to death, Crowley stumbled into town, turning on his heels to take in every sight. He’d never seen so many colours, so many lights!

“What is this?” Crowley whispered, ducking out of sight from another short little person dressed all in bright green, their arms piled high with coloured boxes.

He peeked into a nearby window, hoping to perhaps get a better understanding of this strange little town, to find four of those little people all standing on each other's shoulders as another on the ground spun a green needle tree reminiscent of the one he’d fallen behind. As the tree spun, the four wrapped shiny gold and silver spiky strings around it.

“What is that?”

Shifting into a snake to get a better view, he slithered up and onto a balcony and saw people stuffing little toys into boxes that were then wrapped in the coloured paper. They slid the boxes under their decorated needle tree and tucked them into socks several sizes too large for them. Laughing and smiling at each other all the while.

He hissed as he slithered up onto the roof covered in white cold. It stung his soft underbelly, and he shifted back to better protect himself from the chill, the beginnings of an idea forming.

Watching, enraptured, as the people in the building across the street hung leaves with white berries from an interior doorway then kissed under it, giggling and swaying in each other's arms.

Oh yes, an idea was taking root and growing rapidly.

This was joy. This was cheer. Even Crowley could feel the goodwill thick in the air as young children sucked on red and white candies shaped like canes. He looked out over what he assumed was the square, watching pairs of people skate and dance on a frozen lake that encircled a massive decorated tree.

These… rituals they were so engrossed in, it reminded him of the preparations Halloween Town took part in every year, but different. Very different. But, perhaps, just different enough.

He jumped from the roof, not fearing this short fall after his much longer one, landing easily in a mound of white powder. He would almost think of this as _fun_ were it not so cold.

Now that the initial excitement had worn off, the shivers were back with a vengeance and Crowley swiveled his head around as he slunk between the buildings, looking for a blanket or maybe a coat to snag. Surely no one here would want to find a pile of frozen snake?

He didn’t notice the white and red pole until he ran smack into it, falling on his arse on the slick ground for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. He groaned, head spinning as he stared up at the bright object. He squinted up at the sign attached to the pole. “Christmas Town?” What was a _Christmas_? Was it like Halloween?

A door swung open nearby, bathing the pole and Crowley in warm golden light. He hissed and quickly ducked out of sight, hoping he wasn’t seen. An imposing figure stood in the doorway, laughing merrily as he ushered a group of those tiny people outside.

“And a happy Christmas to you! Ho ho ho!”

 _Oh_. Tall, in charge, an air of authority, and seemingly residing in the largest and most extravagantly decorated building in the whole town. _That_ was the individual who ruled here.

The ideas that had been percolating in his mind, turning over and over as he observed what he was realising was a _holiday_ being prepared for, were beginning to coalesce into a _plan_.

He needed more data, though. More information and more than a few specimens to abscond with. Aziraphale had asked for cheer, and as far as Crowley could see, there was more than enough cheer here, in _Christmas Town_ , than Aziraphale could ever want.

He would bring this Christmas to his patchwork friend. One way, or another.

Crowley still hadn’t returned. Some of the town had managed to convince themselves that it was a wicked prank. Just the sort of thing a Pumpkin King ought to do. Frights weren’t for Halloween alone! A small crowd gathered in the town square, their chatter overlapping and at varying degrees of distress.

“This has never happened before!”

“It’s suspicious!”

“It’s peculiar!”

“It’s scary!”

Young Shadwell was doing his best to smooth things over and placate, something he was far better at than old Shadwell. “Aye, I know it’s quite the shock. Ye ken I’m just as amazed as ye. S’not like Crowley at all to just go about stayin’ out all night.”

“Isn’t it?” one of the Angels wondered. Michael’s long, sharp fingernails tapped against a cheek, just barely missing the eyes blinking over it. More eyes scattered across her folded wings. “He is the... Pumpkin King. I’d expect some mischief from him now and again.”

Tracy pursed her lips and straightened her witch’s hat. Otherwise, she ignored the Angel. She found them all quite stuffy, really. “Is there anywhere we’ve forgotten to check?” she asked, speaking into a megaphone attached to the top of the mayor’s campaign vehicle.

“I looked in every mausoleum,” someone called. 

“We opened the sarcophagi,” a two-headed turtle-like creature yelled.

“I tromped through the pumpkin patch,” Dr. Jekyll offered, one of the orange squash attached to his foot. He hauled up a small goblin who eyed him suspiciously, face contorting so Mr. Hyde could snap, “I _did_ , but he wasn’t there!”

“I even peeked behind the cyclop’s eye,” a vampire offered, pulling out one of his own to demonstrate.

Old Shadwell grabbed the megaphone. “Ye ken what this means! It’s time to-”

“What about Aziraphale?” Adam wondered, three of the four Them balancing on one another’s shoulders to see and be seen over the crowd.

Directly under him, Wensleydale nodded. “Actually, yes, what _about_ Aziraphale?”

The name was only vaguely familiar throughout town, whispers going up from those who knew him from his rare appearances, as The Them slowly shuffled forward. Most moved readily for Brian, who led the way, and Pepper had the other two boys on her strong shoulders.

“Is Crowley with him?” Brian asked, gaze shifting to Michael.

The Angel blinked their many, many eyes but was otherwise still. “Aziraphale has been at home since last night.” And still was, if he knew what was good for him.

Adam’s brows furrowed. “Really? All night?”

They ignored that. “Why do you think he would be with Crowley? A Pumpkin King is hardly going to want to be seen with a patchwork doll.”

“He’s not a _doll_ ,” Pepper snipped. “Aziraphale’s much more than just a doll. And he and Crowley are friends. So maybe he’d know where he went off to.”

“I suppose I should go ask him,” Michael offered and vanished in a flash of flaming light.

Old Shadwell gazed at the children for a beat before turning back to his megaphone. “It’s time to sound the alarms!” he demanded and Tracy pushed a button that sent up a cacophony of screeching felines all through the town.

It stretched across to the outskirts, catching Aziraphale’s attention as he passed by a broken window. What could that possibly be for?

Something landed behind him, startling him into dropping his broom. “Aziraphale,” Michael began calmly, “I have a question for you.”

He bit back his sigh, straightening his shoulders. “Yes?”

“What do you think of our serpentine pumpkin king?”

“Well, I-I- ah, I don’t. Think of him. Ever.” His nose wrinkled as he shook his head. “Not at all. No. He’s- Well, he’s- I’ve heard he’s quite the terror, yes. A _wily_. Old. Serpent.” He hoped his grimace was an appropriate, respectful sort and not terribly besotted. “Um. Why?”

“Hm. He’s gone missing.”

Aziraphale’s expression crumbled like a cake too fresh for eating. “Missing?”

“He hasn’t been seen since last night. The town’s been looking for him all day. You wouldn’t happen to know where he’s gone, do you?”

They were looking at him with far too many eyes, all of them judgemental, and Aziraphale wondered if this was when they finally forced him to stop visiting Crowley, after years of them not noticing at all. And very deliberately not being told by him or by Crowley, at Aziraphale’s request. “I, er, that is, well- No. No, I... I have no idea where he could be.” Which, he realised, was true. He knew where Crowley had _been_ , but... “W-why do you think I would know?”

“Someone may have informed me that the two of you are friends. But that is highly unlikely, isn’t it? Impossible, even.” Their eyes flicked up and down, scanning him quickly. “For obvious reasons.”

He looked down at his own ample middle and stepped away from them to pick his broom back up. “Impossible, yes. Ah. I’ll just get back to work.”

“See that you do. And Aziraphale...”

“Er. Ah. Yes?”

“Remember that Gabriel isn’t... fond of him.”

He winced, squeezing his eyes shut. This was it. This was when he was told to stop fraternising with him. When he lost his friend forever.

He only heard a puff of flame, eyes opening to no one. He was alone in the hall again, and the felines were still wailing.

Well... He set the broom aside and tugged at his worn waistcoat. No one had said he couldn’t help look for him, had they? No. No, they hadn’t. So Aziraphale slid down one of the hidden laundry shoots and slipped out a side door. He’d start at the cemetery and go from there.

Aziraphale had seen the lake being dredged, the entire town in quite the tizzy. No one had ever just... disappeared before. At least not _recently_. Not without resurrecting or some such soon enough. People knew better than to wander into the woods nowadays. But Aziraphale couldn't help feeling as though this was his fault. Perhaps his abrupt departure had made Crowley angry enough to leave? Maybe he'd gone into the Infernal Forest? Maybe he was trapped or injured or-

Sharp barks and a buzzing motor made him scurry away from the edge of the forest, fingers clasped tightly together as he hid behind a gravestone. A chainsaw murderer, perhaps. Crowley would like that. Not getting cut up, but the evading. He did enjoy outsmarting other beings. Aziraphale liked cheering him on. Or, more often, enjoying the tales long after the fact. 

But it wasn't a being wielding a chainsaw who exited the forest, but Crowley on a... On some sort of vehicle, young Adam's dog scampering around it in circles. It was bullet-shaped, but a pristine white and a green colour more vibrant than even Swamp Thing's effervescent vomit. 

He was hauling a trailer of some sort behind him, the thing covered in a tarp large enough to conceal the contents, and Aziraphale felt the most peculiar wave of the strongest relief and the biggest of upsets. How _wonderful_ that he was alright, but how _dare_ he make him worry so? 

He didn't know if he wanted to make his presence known or hide away until Crowley was gone so that he could sort out these emotions, but he and the gravestone he was tucked behind were suddenly being circled by Dog and, well, the tombstone looked like it had curls so he wasn't quite as hidden as he may have liked to think. 

“Angel?” Crowley called, slowing the electric contraption he’d procured when he noticed the white-blonde curls sticking up from behind a grave and Dog tugging excitedly on cream coloured fabric. “Is that you back there?”

Oh... Bother. Sighing, Aziraphale waved Dog away and used the grave to stand, hands quickly clasping behind his back. Now that he was closer, he could see those long legs of his didn't fit quite right. Ridiculous thing. It tipped the scales in relief's favour, Aziraphale’s shoulders sagging. “You utter fool. Where the _devil_ have you been?” 

Crowley grinned broadly at Aziraphale’s chastisement. Merely happy his angel was still willing to talk to him. “You absolutely won’t believe it!” He turned the vehicle off with the push of a shiny red button and hopped off, knees complaining from the cramped position he’d had to hold them in. He rushed to Aziraphale, stopping short of grabbing him and twirling him around. The excess joy of Christmas Town still buzzed under his skin. “Come here, come here. You have to see!”

“I...” It was almost indecent, how giddy he was. How wild. If Aziraphale had been given a proper heart, he was sure it would be racing from the sight of him alone. “See what? Crowley, the entire town's been searching for you.”

“Oh, I have no doubt.” Crowley scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I’m sure Shadwell has worked himself into a head spinning state.” The town's concerns weren’t his problem. Missing some Halloween planning wasn’t going to kill anyone, not permanently anyway. “That’s not important.”

He rushed back to the vehicle and reached under the seat, retrieving his prize. “ _Look_ at this, angel!” He ran back to Aziraphale and shoved a lumpy and terribly wrapped package into his hands. The blue paper patterned with white snowflakes was wrinkled and ripped in odd places.

Aziraphale didn't understand, looking from the odd package to Crowley’s fanged grin. “It's lovely, my dear.” The pattern was unrecognizable to him, but it was pretty enough. “Are you alright? Your hands are like ice. You should get yourself sat in front of a fire.”

Crowley groaned. “I’m fine, angel. Just- just open it. You unwrap it. It’s a surprise. Work with me here, please.”

Aziraphale was familiar with surprises. They rarely worked out well for him. But he was terribly, awfully confused. Was Crowley making fun of him again? 

Frowning, he tugged at the bizarrely-shaped package and peeled the paper away. The tearing sound was satisfying, at least, though what lay beneath that unusual paper made him gasp. It was a blue-eyed, curly-haired human with wings, but rather than looking vicious like the Angels, it seemed content and happy. Peaceful, even. There was no mistaking that it rather looked like him, however. “Is it... a voodoo doll?” 

Crowley had been bouncing on his toes in impatient anticipation, expecting the gasp but not what followed. His face fell, scowling down at the tree-top-angel held in Aziraphale’s grasp. It was supposed to make Aziraphale happy. It didn’t sound like he was happy.

“N-no. It’s- It- It’s a decoration. You- You put it on a-” The trees! Aziraphale didn’t know about the trees! He resisted slapping his palm to his forehead. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_! “I mean, er, I- I saw it and, uh, I thought… you… might… like it?”

This was _not_ going as planned.

Aziraphale blinked at him, not at all certain what to do with the flurry of emotions. Confusion over... well, all of this, apology for upsetting him, and a toasty sort of warmth at the idea that Crowley had seen something and thought of him. “Oh, Crowley, I do. What am I supposed to decorate? Do I need to build it a home?” 

He liked it. _He liked it_! Crowley mentally punched the air and did a jig. Maybe he wasn’t so stupid after all. No, he absolutely wasn’t, he was _brilliant_.

The grin was back ten-fold. “Right! Er, ah... “ Crowley floundered. He didn’t have _time_ to set up a whole needle tree and none of the trees here were the proper ones. “It- It goes on top of a special tree… I got one! A small one! I can- Look, I got all sorts of things to show you, show everyone! Come with me into town. I got a whole thing. It’s- You’re going to love it.”

Oh. Oh, of _course_ it was something for the town. Old silly, he chided himself, burying his disappointment in a smile. “I mustn't. I've snuck out three days in a row now, and I'm sure they're going to be exceptionally cross with me.” He held the angelic decoration out to him. “Here now. You can show the town. Now that I know you're alright, I should return home.”

Crowley shook his head and curled his fingers around Aziraphale’s soft cloth hands, pressing the angel back to him. “This is for no one but you. I got it for you, and I want you to keep it.” Even if he couldn’t convince Aziraphale to go with him into town, he could still do this. “I’d like it if you were there when I tell everyone the things I’ve found,” _they’re for you after all_ , “but even if you can’t, I still want you to have that.”

“Oh...” His hands really were quite chilled, more so than normal. Aziraphale wanted to rub warmth into them, but that would likely be exceptionally forward. He could take the very unusual gift, though. “Thank you. Perhaps I'll come by in a few days, and you can show me then? If you can contain your excitement,” he teased. 

Crowley was grinning so hard he was certain his face was going to split down the middle. “Oh, angel, I’m sure I can save some excitement for you.” He had the wild idea to lift Aziraphale’s hands to his lips and kiss them, which sounded like a _fantastic_ idea, but a loud yell from the direction of the town snapped him out of the moment.

“Crowley! You’re alive!”

Dog had, apparently, found his master.

And his master had led him right back. Aziraphale stepped away from Crowley, holding the unexpected gift against his chest. “I'll see you in a few days, dearest,” he said, endearment spilling out in his haste to disappear before he could be noticed. He didn't think it would be safe if they were found together. Not for him, anyway. He just hoped the Angels hadn't noticed his absence.

A soft all encompassing warmth flooded Crowley’s chest. _Dearest_. Oh he desperately wanted to be dearest to Aziraphale. “See ya, angel,” Crowley said to Aziraphale’s already retreating back, a goofy grin hanging on his face.

The patchwork being slipped away soundlessly, and didn't see the awed way Crowley watched him until he was overtaken by four, excited children. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find us on tumblr at [SylWritesStuff](https://sylwritesstuff.tumblr.com/) and [theladydrgn](https://theladydrgn.tumblr.com/)! 💖


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale had only crossed about half of the cemetery when The Them descended upon Crowley like a pack of feral wolves on a helpless baby lamb.[1] He’d been so caught up in watching Aziraphale’s ample hips sway between the gravestones and daydreaming about how much Aziraphale was going to _love_ all the Christmas things he’d nabbed, that he’d momentarily forgotten the wild children stampeding in his direction until he quite simply couldn’t anymore.

Wensleydale attached himself to Crowley’s left arm, Brian and his slime was soaking into Crowley’s right pant leg, and Pepper had planted her furry self right in front of him and immediately started a lecture on disappearing without telling anyone. The most concerning, however, had been Adam wrapping his arms around his neck from the back and squeezing.

Crowley wheezed and tilted, his right arm flailing wildly in an attempt to find a counter balance to keep himself upright. Luckily the leg Brian had his slimy arms around was also being weighed down by said child, so he was able to stay mostly upright while all four children babbled and yelled at him in a cacophony of voices. They spoke over one another in four completely different trains of thought and Crowley was having trouble following a single one of them. The most he was able to get out of it was something about dying, being eaten alive, being _buried_ alive, and being chopped into a thousand little bits. The rest was nonsense, and he allowed them to continue their upset until they ran out of breath.

They eventually quieted, four pairs of earnest eyes staring at him in varying degrees of concern, frustration, and relief. Crowley scowled at the three he could easily see until Adam mumbled into his shoulder. “Where _were_ you?”

Crowley sighed as much as he could with his airways being blocked off and gave the arms around his neck a gentle pat.

“Oh. Right. Sorry,” Adam mumbled and released him

Crowley gasped for breath and rubbed at his throat. Hopefully, it didn’t bruise; he didn’t need to hear Madame Tracy’s comments on _that_.

“Right then,” Crowley rasped. “You lot too.” He gave the arm Wensleydale was still attached to a little shake.

The remaining two children disentangled themselves from his person and Crowley gave his newly freed limbs a few good wiggles to make sure they were still attached properly. His right pant leg was completely soaked through with slime and he mentally groaned at how difficult Brian’s slime was to get out of clothing.

“So are you going to explain yourself or not?” Pepper asked, paws at her hips and still looking very cross with him.

Crowley matched her wolfy scowl with a snakey one of his own. “I’m a grown adult and can do as I please. Do you ask all the adults to inform you of their whereabouts?”

“Of course we don't,” responded Wensleydale, adjusting the round glasses on his head that was slightly too large for his tiny body. “And it’s not just us kids. All the grown-ups were wondering where you went too.”

“C'mon, Crowley. We were worried about you,” Adam said, stepping around from behind him.

He’d planned on scowling at Adam too - it wasn’t like it was any of _their_ business where _he_ went - but one look at the boy's concerned face and his resolve crumpled like swamp-soaked bread. Despite Adam’s mischievous nature and his general disregard for authority, he actually liked Crowley and took the things he said to heart.

And Crowley _did_ feel bad for worrying the poor kid. He was the only adult figure in the kid's life that Adam didn’t just brush off. After all, it wasn’t like he had any parents, having appeared in Halloween Town one day out of the blue. When Crowley had been told a young boy had shown up in town, wandering the streets lost and confused about where he was, he’d taken it upon himself to ‘show him the ropes’ of a sort.

Crowley sighed and softened. “I was chasing after your damnedable dog.”

Said ghostly canine yipped and wagged its transparent tail in excitement at having heard its name.

Adam frowned down at Dog. “Bad Dog! I’ve told you, you’re supposed to listen to Crowley.”

“It’s… It’s fine, Adam. Doubt it’s gonna stick at this point anyhow. Besides,” he turned, slimy pant leg sticking to his skin, and motioned towards his dubiously procured Christmas goods, “without Dog I might not have found this.”

The four children leaned around him to stare at the trailer attached to his stolen vehicle. “What is it?” Adam asked.

Crowley grinned. “Something new.”

Being locked into his tower wasn’t really a problem.

Anymore.

It had become a bit of one after the year before, his windows boarded up and chained, but he'd spent the last year steadily loosening several chain links and several boards were now hanging on by a single nail. The benefit of doing all the housework was knowing where the tools were and having free access. 

With the Angels resting or otherwise occupied for the evening, Aziraphale hummed to himself as he packed a neat basket. An apple wine he'd brewed and been saving for a special occasion, some properly moulded bread, and some equally moulded cheese. Oh, and apples he'd picked just that morning. Crisp and redder than blood. With luck, one of them might even have a worm. Besides the nibbles, he delicately tucked his little winged doll into it as well so that Crowley might show him what sort of a thing it ought to decorate. 

If he also couldn't bear the risk of parting with it lest the Angels pry up all of his floorboards, well, that was his business. 

He swept a thin tartan blanket over the spoils and looped a gnarled old hook over the loop. Dismantling the barrier took a few extra minutes. A good tug and the chain came apart, two more tugs and enough boards came off that he was able to open his window. 

Still humming, he tossed a rope over a headless gargoyle's wing to give him leverage as he slowly, carefully lowered the basket to the ground below. Satisfied, he tugged and waved the rope until the hook came loose and then reeled it back up. After hiding it away under one of the dozens of loose floorboards in his room, he returned to the window. 

It was a beautiful night. The moon was waning splendidly, allowing the stars to shine brightly against the inky backdrop. He and Crowley shared an affection for new moons, for that eerie darkness broken only by those tiny twinkling lights. Just burning in the sky, beautiful pieces of destruction. Some of them were already dead, and wasn't that lovely? Star ghosts. 

But he'd just as soon admire the sky with him than without him and, well, he'd heard the Angels having quite the row over this whole Christmas thing. Sandalphon called it a bunch of sparkly nonsense, Uriel liked the sounds of the clawed lobster-like ruler, Michael managed to say nothing positive yet nothing negative about the entire thing, and Gabriel... 

Well, Gabriel was just furious that Crowley had found something new and presented it to the approval of all the town. He was going to dislike it all on principal. 

If Aziraphale was the petty sort, he might just like it out of spite. As he was not at all the petty sort, he'd allow Crowley to talk him into liking it. Far more satisfying. 

Smiling, he turned off his lamp and hurled himself out of the window. The icy wind clawed at him, ripping at his clothes and yanking his hair. It nipped his cheeks and nose until they were apple-red. And it was a lovely, blissful feeling. He closed his eyes, his warm sigh lost to the cold. 

And then he landed. 

Nearly soundless, he made only a muffled _whump_ as his body hit and broke apart on the chilly ground. His eyes opened on another little sigh, his limbs coming back to him and his hand whisking a needle right from where Aziraphale had stuck it behind his ear and thread from the basket. They reattached themselves to Aziraphale’s wrists, then his arms, and then to his torso. Only one leg had come apart, so he rolled up his trouser leg as he sat up and reattached it. In no time at all, he was back in tip-top condition. 

So, smiling, Aziraphale gathered up his basket and made his way to his dear friend's door. 

The doorbell hissed and rattled in its familiar way, the many, many locks came undone, and there he was, the door flinging open with an air of impatience. Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled like the stars. “Hello, my dear. I've brought us some nibbles.”

Crowley had been waiting with bated breath for Aziraphale to show up all day and definitely hadn’t worked himself into an anxious state over it. Not at all.

He tried his ‘seductive lean’ technique, pressing his boney shoulder into the doorframe and popping his hip out, which had, thus far, not worked the way he wanted it to, but Aziraphale’s eyes always crinkled in that cute way when he did it so he kept it up. “Hiya, angel,” he greeted, those silvery, spiky strings the Christmas folk had been wrapping around needle trees draped around his shoulders and almost dragging the floor.

“You're looking rather... reflective. What have you been up to?” 

“Why don’t you come on in, and I can show you?” Crowley purred, straightening his back, and gestured past the entry.

Aziraphale stepped in, too aware of every point of contact when they brushed together in the narrow entryway. It was like falling again, that same exhilaration sweeping through him. He pushed the basket at Crowley in defense, certain the landing wouldn't be nearly as pleasant. “Here. I set aside a few apples for you. I know how much you like them.”

Crowley took the basket with care, lifting a corner of the tartan blanket to peek at the treasure inside. The soft warm fuzzy feeling settling in his limbs. “Aw, angel, did you nab ‘em from ol’ R.P. for me?”

“Perhaps. If he didn’t want anything in his orchard, he should have better traps, I think. And the wine is- oh.” He paused mid-turn, the dark barren hallway stunningly cluttered. Tiny bulbs lined the edges of the hall along the floor, lit with multiple vibrant colours. Nailed up was a circle of twigs and leaves, what appeared to be a red bow pressed against the wall. And there were more of those unusual silver strips scattered about. “What's happened?” 

“What’s happened is exactly what I wanted to tell you about. Come on, most of it’s in the parlour.” Crowley sauntered his way down the hall, certain that Aziraphale would follow and trying not to seem as excited as he was.

“I've overheard the Angels talking about it a little bit. Your Christmas thing, that is. No one's said anything about all the colourful lights.” They rose up the wall and streaked across their feet in a way that made Aziraphale smile. It was odd that they weren't flickering at all, but they were awfully pretty. 

There were more in the parlour. But, then, there was a lot in the parlour. There was a prickly little, er, tree? Aziraphale was very certain it was a tree, but it was green and decorated with rather large socks and paper crowns. Little rounded baubles hung from various places in the ceiling, shining in the multicoloured lights and that of the fire spilling its warmth into the room. Across the mantel were more lights, brightly wrapped shapes, and hooks holding more shiny baubles. 

Aziraphale cupped one, oohing softly over how delicate it felt against his palm. There was a pattern on it, the same little symbols that had been around the crinkling paper which had hid his winged doll. It must be something important to the Christmas experience. “I've never seen so much colour in your home, Crowley. Or so much light.”

Crowley had watched Aziraphale step into the parlour with bated breath while trying not to be too obvious he was doing so. Listened to the “oohs” and “aahhs” and grew more certain by the second that this was _exactly_ what Aziraphale had meant by “joy and cheer.”

“Yeah the, er, all the townsfolk don’t quite seem to get it… But! I am sure they just need some time to, uh, process.” He popped the cork on the wine, sending the stopper flying across the room with a grin, only to be surprised by a vaporous apple rising out of the opened bottle, chased and caught by a vapor snake before both slowly faded into the air. “Oh, angel! That’s brilliant!”

Aziraphale rubbed his palms over his thighs nervously before clasping his hands together. “Oh, you think so? It's just a little trick I read about in one of the books you gave me. It seemed like it might suit an apple wine.”

“'Course I do. Big fan of tricks, me,” Crowley said and sauntered over to press the now full glass into Aziraphale’s hand. “And I’m glad those books are getting good use. Woulda been wasted on me.” The second he’d learned that Aziraphale loved to read, but that the Angels only supplied him with manuals on cleaning and polishing and cooking, he’d gone out and scoured the town for as many books as he could get his scaled hands on.

“Oh, yes. For a being who doesn't read, you certainly provide me with fascinating tomes.” Aziraphale took a sip of his wine to cover his smile, humming thoughtfully around the sample before swallowing. It was just as tart as he'd hoped it would be. “And I very much appreciate them.”

Crowley followed Aziraphale’s example, sipping his wine and enjoying the tart apple that rolled across his tongue. “Well, you know, I did just happen to run across books all about Christmas while I was… out. If you’re interested, of course.”

“Oh!” Surprised, Aziraphale reached out and touched his elbow. “It isn't something you made up? Gabriel seems to think it is.”

“Ngh, n-no.” Crowley almost choked on his wine at Aziraphale’s delicate touch. “Discovered it, actually. Thought it was ni- something we should have here. Gabriel, the wanker, is just jealous he didn’t find it first.”

“Well. Possibly.” Most definitely, but Crowley knew without him having to say it aloud. “There are really books?” 

“Yup! Here,” he set his glass down on the mantel, “lemme go grab ‘em.” Crowley didn’t wait for Aziraphale’s response and dashed off into his study where he’d stored the pile of books he’d stolen from Christmas Town.

He returned with a pile stacked clear over his head, and dropped it onto a nearby table. “See?”

Excitement rippled over Aziraphale’s cloth skin as he set his wine beside Crowley’s and stepped closer to join him, eyes bright and so very wide. “Oh, my dear fellow, there are so many!” Several of them were small things and others seemed to be collections. It was fascinating, as fascinating as the bindings. Aziraphale took the top book off the pile, _A Christmas Carol_ , just to run his fingers over the cover and the spine. Not tattered at all. And the pages, when he flipped open the book, appeared pristine! Where was the grime, the tears, the fingerprints? There wasn't even water damage or charred edges. 

“Gosh,” he gasped, tracing a gilded letter on the first page with a fingertip. “I've never seen anything so... so neat. How did you find all of this, Crowley?” he wondered, lifting his gaze from the book to the serpent eyeing him carefully. His stare could be so intense at times, so focused, and Aziraphale never knew what to do about the attention besides tuck it away for his favourite nightmares. “Where did you go?” 

Crowley squirmed in place, liquid warmth trickling down his long spine at Aziraphale’s obvious delight.

So far he hadn't told a single soul the _truth_ about the origins of Christmas. Most townsfolk stayed clear away from the Infernal Woods, it was well known that those who entered very rarely returned, so all he had to do was say that was where he'd found Christmas and they stopped asking. Aziraphale obviously wasn't as wary of the woods as the others, they'd met there, so could he trust him not to run off to join this Christmas Town? There was no reason to go live in the cold and wet if Crowley was bringing the Christmas right to him, was there?

“Erm, er… I just kinda, you know…” Aziraphale was looking at him so earnestly, the lie he'd been hashing out all slapdash-like in his head died on his tongue. “It's kind of a really weird story…”

“Of all beings, you should know I’m exceptionally fond of weird stories.” Aziraphale closed the book to give Crowley his full attention. “And, frankly, I think you owe me an explanation. I was terribly worried about you, my dear.”

Crowley deflated a bit, shoulders sagging. He hadn't intended to worry Aziraphale, or indeed be gone quite so long, so he supposed Aziraphale at least deserved to know. “Didn't mean to worry you, angel,” he said cautiously reaching out to grip one of Aziraphale’s soft shoulders. The fabric was warm and tickled the pads of his fingers. “Sit down with me and I'll tell you all about it, alright?”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to do about the unusual pressure, not at all used to being touched by someone not about to drag him off or punish him in some way. Crowley wouldn’t do either of those things, but it was still decidedly odd. “Ah. Yes. We should fetch our wine if it’s going to be a long story.”

“Right!” Crowley rushed to the mantel to grab their glasses - being at least a little tipsy sounded fantastic right about now - and flung himself onto his harshly rectangular sofa after passing Aziraphale his wine. “So! It started with me chasing Adam's damnedable mutt through the forest…”

Aziraphale hesitated a moment before sitting on the right side of the couch rather than the armchair he usually perched on in deference to Crowley’s request that he sit _with_ him. He only smiled when the serpent made a strangled sort of sound, taking it for his usual dramatics. Chasing Dog did sound as if it would be annoying, after all.

Crowley seemed to take a moment to reboot, so Aziraphale refilled both of their glasses and watched his cheeks pinken in a way Aziraphale never saw him do around anyone else. But then, they weren’t typically close enough to one another when there were others about. He still hoped it was one of the things just for him.

The colour faded as he finally resumed his tale, Aziraphale forgetting his wine entirely as he listened with rapt attention. While, no, he wasn’t as afraid of the woods as the rest of the town, he’d never gone further than the first layer of trees. And even then it was to tuck away somewhere no one would find him in order to read, sew, or draw in peace. A whole night spent chasing Dog into the deepest part of the woods sounded far worse than the icy wind which had yanked Crowley through an unusual tree-shaped door.

He glanced at the prickly green thing in the corner. “So it looked like that?”

“Er, well, the door tree was a lot more… full? I like this one better, anyhow. All the gaps in it means I can see the other side. Less likely to get pulled into a weird place with this one.” 

“Oh, yes.”

It sounded reasonable enough to him, more so than the white powder Crowley had apparently landed in. Aziraphale’s nose wrinkled at the description of the wet not-quite-ice was met with approval, and Crowley continued. He described the brightest, most colourful place of tiny beings laughing in the streets and bright decorations and candy - a different sort than they were used to. It all sounded rather different, really. 

Children throwing snowballs instead of heads, the tiny beings creating toys, frost on the windows... Well, the frost wasn’t _so_ different but Crowley explained it was only on the _outside_ and the interiors were all cosy and warm. Aziraphale looked from him to the fireplace and back, feeling rather cosy and warm right where he was.

It sounded rather fanciful and impossible, really. No monsters lurking under beds? Everyone _alive_? Good feelings all around? Music - cheerful, in tune music - in the air rather than screams and cackles. And _fresh_ cakes and pies wafting about. Aziraphale couldn’t recall ever having eaten a cake that wasn’t stale or a pie which hadn’t been left out for far too many days, but Crowley made it sound magical.

It was almost uncomfortable and not in the pleasant way. It was more confusing. Why would Crowley _ever_ be this intrigued by such a place?

Then, finally, something that sounded normal. “Wait. A bomb shaped like a toe?” Because he very much didn’t trust this peculiar place to have normal things. “Or is it just the plant?”

“The plant, angel. They- they hung it in doorways and- and,” his face pinkened significantly more than just a flush from the alcohol, “were kissing under it.” 

Aziraphale glanced towards the hallway and the kitchen doorways, not seeing the familiar sprig strung up. He wasn’t certain if he was more disappointed or relieved, quietly calling himself an old silly for thinking there was a chance or for being glad that Crowley wouldn’t risk such a thing should anyone else come into his home. “And then they... share the berries and have hallucinations?”

“Nope!” Crowley said, popping the 'p' at the end. “Just left it up there! Complete waste of a good poison if you ask me.” 

Oh, jolly good. That sounded much more like Crowley. He was clearly just curious about the unusual place. That certainly soothed the quietly building fear that Crowley might want to go off to this Christmas Town and not return. Perhaps that was why no one else came home from the Infernal Woods - liking these other places more than Halloween. 

Though Aziraphale wouldn't mind visiting a place filled with cheer and laughter all the time, he imagined it might get tedious after a bit. “Do you think these books might tell us why they do such a thing?” 

Crowley shrugged from the boneless heap he'd slowly been turning into. Comfortable and warm from the fire and drink with Aziraphale within reach. Even with his expansive imagination he couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be, anywhere else more perfect.

“Dunno.” He waved inelegantly towards his eyes, almost scratching himself across the nose. “Not good for readin', y'know? Figured you'd have better luck 'en me goin' through 'em.” 

Aziraphale nodded eagerly, bright smile returning. It all made so much more sense now. Crowley had always been the curious sort, and this was something he could help him with. As much as he detested doing things for the Angels, being of use to Crowley seemed to fill what passed for his stomach with fluttering moths. “I'd love to read them all, Crowley. We can surely figure out this holiday between the two of us.”

Crowley nodded back, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Exactly! Unstoppable team, you 'n' me. Between your smarts an' my imagination, this Christmas thing doesn't stand a chance.” 

He lurched to his feet with no warning and stumbled over his cobweb covered record player, wine sloshing out of his glass and dribbling onto the floor. “And! I got music!” 

Fumbling with the stack of Christmas Town records, he eventually wrestled one from its sleeve and set it up to play. A soft piano number drifting from the horn.

Not a single sour note was hit, the piano sounding quite precisely tuned. Aziraphale tipped back his glass and wondered just how sloshed one needed to be to enjoy this. Their town's musicians sounded much better. “Do they all sound so... nice?” 

Crowley frowned down at the record in question, a few strings slowly making their way into the piece. “Er.” He glanced from Aziraphale to the record and back, drunk addled brain struggling to figure out if Aziraphale meant he liked it and wanted to hear more or if he hated it and would prefer something else. “No? M'sure it all can't be… nice?” 

Aziraphale giggled, not quite as drunk as Crowley since he still had to walk home, but certainly tipsy. The entirety of this Christmas Town had sounded like an endless wave of nice, so he was sure the music was all the same. He pushed himself up and made his way to the kitchen where his basket had been left. “I'm certain our street musicians could make it sound even better. Would you like some bread and cheese, dear boy? To help you soak up some of the wine?” 

“Hm? Oh, yeah sure.” Crowley watched him disappear into the kitchen, hardly having heard the question. Stuck on what Aziraphale said before. _Our street musicians could make it sound even better_. They could, couldn’t they? Add some proper discordance to what was, thus far, proving to be a very boring and sleepy tune. “Think they’d go for it?”

“The local musicians?” he wondered, finding a knife to slice through the crusted, stale bread and the flaking cheese. It was an easy rhythm, something he was familiar with doing at home. But it brought him so much more pleasure to do it here than there. “I don't see why not. It's already a bit dreary and sleepy. Besides, I've heard you convinced the entire town that this Christmas experience sounded intriguing. You know you're quite the wily tempter.”

Crowley nodded along absently. It was true only a handful of people had seemed unconvinced at the townhall meeting, some had been down right excited even if they didn’t quite seem to get it. But it was the spirit of the thing, wasn’t it? The joy of it. Who cared if they didn’t get it exactly right? The point was making Aziraphale happy, and he certainly seemed so thus far. If he could bring _more_ Christmas here, get the whole town involved, _do it their way_ , he would be even happier. “Yeah… Yeah! Shouldn’t be too hard. Angel, you're brilliant!”

“I-” He looked up in surprise, and the blade went cleanly through his wrist. “Oh. Bugger.”

“Alright there, angel?” Crowley asked, peeking his head into the kitchen. He pouted at the sight of the stub arm with no hand. “Now what’d you go an’ do that for?” he teased, sliding up next to Aziraphale.

“I can assure you it was hardly on purpose.” Aziraphale set the knife aside and pulled a threaded pin out from behind his ear. “But what's a bit more spent thread? Could you, ah, hold it in place for me? My hands tend to wander when unattached.”

Crowley flushed at the suggestion. It wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d helped Aziraphale reattach various body parts, actually having to sew a wayward ear back on him at one point, but it was the first time it felt… intimate. “Ngk. Yeah, sure. I can, erm, no problem.” He scooped up said hand delicately as it skittered across the counter towards the sink. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he chided. “We are going to have _words_ if you make me take a dive into the sewers.”

The hand, however, settled when he picked it up. Going mostly still except for the thumb which slid repeatedly over his palm. “Right, er, um.” Fuck, the soft fabric caressing his palm was distracting. “How do you, er, want me to…?”

Oh, dear. Even unattached, Aziraphale was _aware_ of the sensations happening to his pieces. The only thing that was lost was impulse control. The chilly grip was careful, more so than he would've expected from Crowley. Or, perhaps, more so than anyone else would expect from Crowley. Aziraphale knew him a bit better than all that, after all. “Ah. Just hold it here so I fix it properly to my arm. Almost nothing is more useless than a backwards hand.”

Crowley chuckled and held Aziraphale’s hand up in both of his, trying desperately to ignore the way the thumb was rubbing circles into his palm or how the other fingers were trying to twine with his. The snakey half of his brain was yelling at him to interlock their fingers and hold on tight, he told it to shut up. “Dunno ‘bout that. M’sure Wensleydale could think of ways it’d be useful.”

“Well, I'd rather ask beforehand than find out the hard way that he can't.” Aziraphale started to press his arm against the sliced wrist, but hesitated. “Ah. It might be simpler if you... If it's- I can hold my own hand if you'd be more comfortable doing the stitching?” 

Flushing deeper, sure his ears were on fire, Crowley shook his head. “N-no. No. It’sss- mmm, it’s fine. I can-” He gave the hand what it apparently wanted, just to hold it still, mind, and slid his fingers in between Azirapahle’s soft pudgy ones. Heart hammering in his chest so loud it was a wonder Aziraphale didn’t hear it. “Sssewed your ear on lopsssided last time. Wouldn’t want to - ngk. I know how much you work with your hands. Probably ruin it.”

The loose approximation of a heart Aziraphale laid claim to fluttered with an urge to assure Crowley he could never ruin anything. Not when he was holding his hand like that. The rest of him smiled and teased, “Very true. I'm sure you'd find some wicked way to web my fingers together entirely.”

Crowley snorted and grinned. “I mean, I can, if you like. Can’t guarantee it’d be any good though. Not good with this delicate stuff, not like you are.” He boldly gave the fingers in his grip a small squeeze.

Aziraphale barely bit back a gasp, clearing his throat and finally beginning to carefully stitch his hand back into place. “No, your talents lie elsewhere. This is hardly a skill a Pumpkin King needs, is it?” 

“Needs? Probably not. Damn useful though. Can’t just pull costumes out of my arse. I got lucky I can transform, past Pumpkin Kings have had to have someone make things for ‘em if they didn’t know how to do it themselves. If those damned Angels didn’t keep you all to themselves like they do, I’d be askin’ you to lend me a hand.” It was true. Aziraphale’s sewing skills were almost magical. Crowley had tried, many times, to make costumes or mend his own clothes but, much like his attempt to sew Aziraphale’s ear back on, all he was able to make was a mess.

“Oh, Crowley, you silly serpent.” His half-attached hand squeezed. “You should know by now that I'd be happy to fashion you something. I would just need your measurements and some time to work while I'm here. I wouldn't trust the Angels not to find something for you. It's bad enough that Michael's suspicious now.”

Crowley squeezed back, not sure if Aziraphale had done it on purpose or if his hand was still acting independently, either way the prolonged contact was causing a slight buzzing under his skin. “Only if you want to. Wouldn’t want to burden you with too much. They make you do enough of their dirty work as it is.”

He didn’t know how worried he should be about Michael’s suspicions. He knew Gabriel despised him because he’d stolen the Pumpkin King title from him, Sandalphon was such a creep that it made even his skin crawl, and Uriel was just a generally unpleasant person to be around. Michael, though, they were a bit of a wildcard. Quiet and usually keeping their thoughts to themselves while watching everything with undisguised judgement. He still didn’t like them on principle, though.

“‘S nothin’ wrong with you bein’ here. Dunno why they gotta have such a stick up their arse.”

“It's terribly disrespectful, my dear, as you very well know.” He paused his stitches, unable to reach the remainder with their hands linked. “But doing their wretched chores is one thing. Assisting you is another. If you ask too much, you'll at least listen to me.”

“Course I listen,” Crowley said softly, staring at their linked fingers. Holding Aziraphale’s hand felt _right_ , even if the angle was more awkward than comfortable. “Know I don’t always get it right, but it doesn’t stop me from tryin’, you know?”

Aziraphale watched him, as surprised by the admission as he was the very idea that Crowley would be _trying_ in this relationship. Friendship. Considering who they were, their respective roles in town, it was Aziraphale who should be having to try. It was... Well, it was sweet. It was everything that he'd been told time and time again didn't exist or belong in Halloween Town. 

It was everything which kept him coming back. “If this is you attempting to apologise for what happened at Halloween, I've already forgiven you, you ridiculous creature.”

Crowley ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Still deserve to hear it though. I was a bit of a prick.”

“You'd hardly be you if you weren't a wretch on occasion.”

“And you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t a bit of a bastard sometimes.” Crowley said with a grin and gave his hand another squeeze. “Think you were right though. The other night. Some cheer every now and again wouldn’t be so bad.”

That was why he came to visit as often as he did, though Aziraphale didn't dare say so aloud. “Yes, well... Could I finish the stitching now? I'm still feeling rather peckish.”

Crowley blinked in confusion at him, then glanced from Aziraphale, to his half-stitched wrist, and back again. He’d actually forgotten that was why they were standing so close, why they were _holding hands_. “Ngk, r-right. Sssorry. Didn’t realise-” He reluctantly disentangled their fingers, careful not to tug too hard and ruin Aziraphale’s hard work. He missed the contact immediately. No telling how long it might before such an occurrence happened again.

“It's alright. I do appreciate the assistance.” Aziraphale turned his wrist up, sighing at the swan feather sticking out from the split. He didn't want to take out any stitches to make enough room to poke it back down, so plucked the thing out with a shake of his head. “I'm so sorry. I don't mean to spill about like this.”

Crowley’s serpentine eyes zeroed in on the white bedraggled feather pinched between Aziraphale’s thumb and finger. “S’not a problem. I can deal with it for you, if you like.”

“Oh, ah. If you don't mind.” Aziraphale offered it with a small smile. “And I'll just finish up in here.”

“Don't mind at all.” Crowley said and plucked the feather from Aziraphale’s grasp. He twirled it between his thumb and forefinger by the quill. It was far from perfect, with chunks missing out of the middle and the lower downy barbs ragged and grey with dirt. He stuck it behind his ear and cocked his head. “What do you think?”

He thought it was astounding in its intimacy. Though he was very likely messing about, Crowley was still effectively wearing a piece of him. “You wily old serpent,” was the best he could do, running the needle through his fabric skin to return his hand to its rightful functionality. 

Crowley grinned triumphantly. “Well, I think it makes me look distinguished. I’m keeping it.” He turned on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen before Aziraphale could raise a complaint. He would not be giving up his prize.

The second he turned the corner, he pulled the feather from his ear and pressed it to his nose, breathing deep. Old books, wool, only a hint of mildew, Aziraphale. He held it there for longer than was probably considered polite before tucking it back behind his ear where it belonged.

For his part, Aziraphale spent the rest of the evening trying not to stare at the feather, so sure that Crowley was putting him on. It must've been a joke. He wasn't going to take the bait, though, stubbornly rising above. 

Even when he finally left, his basket filled with books instead of nibbles and fresh knowledge of what his winged doll was for. They impaled angels on tree tops and called them decorative - it was delightful. “I'll see you in a few days, then? After I finish some of these books.”

Crowley nodded carefully so as to not dislodge the feather. “You know you’re welcome here anytime, angel.”

“I do wish I could say the same. I hope you have pleasant night terrors, my dear.”

“Goodnight, angel. Don’t fall in the swamp on the way home.” 

“Oh, goodness, not after the last time. It took _weeks_ to dry out.” He smiled at Crowley’s laughter, sending him a cheerful wave before turning to return home, only a little unsteady in his tipsy state. 

Crowley waited until he couldn’t see Aziraphale anymore before shutting the door. He only allowed himself a moment to breathe and rub the feather at his ear, knowing there would be no ‘pleasant night terrors’ for him tonight. Tonight was all about working to truly bring Christmas to Halloween Town.

* * *

* * *

### Footnotes

1. No offense to Pepper, of course. Crowley's not the best at similes when he's _not_ being pounced on.↩

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Syl  
> This wasn't supposed to happen this chapter, but they really just wanted to be in love for several thousand words and who are we to deny them that opportunity? 
> 
> ladydragona  
> I gotta be honest, despite not planning it, the hand holding is my favorite scene. Sorely tempted to draw it myself.
> 
> -
> 
> Find us on tumblr at [SylWritesStuff](https://sylwritesstuff.tumblr.com/) and [theladydrgn](https://theladydrgn.tumblr.com/)! 💖


	4. Chapter 4

The first step in bringing Christmas to Halloween Town was learning about Christmas. While Aziraphale was ignorant to Crowley’s ultimate goal, he was delighted to be helping him learn. He liked being part of something, liked indulging Crowley’s unending curiosity. 

The books, however, were far more disappointing as far as content went. He didn't understand why Rudolph bothered to assist his tormentors in the end rather than getting them lost in the impenetrable fog and then heading happily home, the victor. _A Christmas Carol_ had held far more promise. A gruesome, miserly old man haunted by a deceased partner and then three spirits. He'd been delighted by Scrooge's pitiful begging when Future had shown him his gravestone, so positive he would be told it was too late. 

But then. But _then_! 

“Oh, Crowley, I was terribly disappointed by the ending. He turns _good_ and doesn't die at all. Even the limping boy lives.”

Crowley pouted and plucked the book from Aziraphale’s pile. “Waste of paper, that. Were any of ‘em any good at all?”

“I'm afraid they all end rather pleasantly. Christmas is always saved.” Which was all well and good for Christmas, he supposed, but an unhappy ending for characters wouldn't be remiss. “But don't ruin that one. I'm going to remove the bits after he begs for his life and pretend it has a better ending. It was a very good book before that.”

“As you like,” Crowley said and put it back from where he’d grabbed it, but not before giving it a good glare for daring to disappoint Aziraphale. “Did they at least have useful information in them?”

“Oh, yes. Several books did. One poem was all about the rituals involved in the night before Christmas.” And thusly titled. Aziraphale leaned forward to rummage through the pile on the coffee table, plucking out a very worn book that was clearly of Halloween Town and a bright red slim volume from Christmas Town. “It's tucked in here with quite a few other rubbish poems and short stories of good vanquishing evil for whatever reason, but I've jotted down and sketched the important bits. Budge up,” he requested, leaving the armchair and waving at him to make room on the couch. 

Crowley obliged, scooting over far enough to give Aziraphale enough room to sit and then sliding back close enough that their knees brushed together. “What could they possibly want with ‘vanquishing evil’ anyway?” 

“I have _no_ idea.” And very little idea why Crowley continued to be fascinated by something which was so entirely at odds with everything in Halloween Town. His curiosity, it seemed, was insatiable. “There was a song book in there too, and I've set it aside for you to see. Some of them actually have lyrics, you know. I rather like the one wherein Santa murders a grandmother.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows at that. Despite Christmas’s benign and fluffy exterior, he approved of the dark and gritty bits hidden underneath, and he could easily imagine a creature whose coat had _obviously_ been soaked in blood doing a little murdering. “Well, I definitely approve of the murder bits.” He squinted at the tiny words on the page. “Might have to read most of it to me though. Snake eyes are not all that good for reading.”

“I know, my dear. That's why I made some sketches for you. The Christmas Eve rituals are very interesting. Oh! The stockings you have on your tree. Apparently...” Aziraphale scooted closer, ignoring the wonderful chill from Crowley’s thigh pressed against his own, and opened the tattered book. He hummed, thumbing through the pages before, “Ah! Here. Do you see? It said that the stockings get hung by the chimney.” With care, but that didn't seem like a vital detail. 

The sudden contact of Aziraphale’s warm thigh pressed to his made Crowley have to repress a shiver, and he threw his arm over the back of the couch, close enough that, with the slightest movement, his fingers might brush Aziraphale’s shoulder. He leaned in to get a better look at the sketches, and if it caused Aziraphale to be tucked that much closer to his side, it was simply happenstance. Nothing more. “You’re sure that’s what it said?” He couldn’t recall any of the stockings being hung outside on the roof like the sketch suggested, but he also didn’t know enough about Christmas to dispute it.

“It did say by the chimney. I'm quite positive about that.” Aziraphale shifted the sketchbook so Crowley could better see it, certain it was indeed happenstance that he was pressed so close. He could almost feel the touch against his shoulder, but scolded himself for wanting it. “Oh, but you'll like this bit. They also take long winter naps.” He didn't understand why exactly they wore kerchiefs and caps to do so, but Crowley was known to drop off for week-long naps every now and again. 

“Oh, now that I can get behind.” Christmas Town had looked fairly lively and active to him, but perhaps those still awake were just making sure all the preparations were complete. “Well, getting the stockings on the roof shouldn’t be a problem. What else did I get wrong?”

“Well, I wouldn't say _wrong_.” He gave Crowley’s knee a pat. “But quite a bit. Apparently, there's some sort of magical _saint_ who has a sleigh just like Santa. It's the most peculiar thing. They're rivals, perhaps. Oh, but the decorations! Judging by the stories...”

Aziraphale’s sketches sometimes matched Crowley’s recollections of his brief visit, and sometimes didn't. But as they were hazy and the patchwork man had done the research, they followed them. The wreath ended up on the back of the door (the bow still facing inward as they both rather liked it that way), the shiny baubles on the tree, the stockings on the chimney - which was only a problem when a stray string caught on a cracked shingle and Aziraphale ended up without a leg. And it was, actually, quite difficult to think about that as a _problem_ when one was rescued from falling off the roof entirely by being caught up in smooth black coils just in the nick of time. Quite difficult to be upset about that, indeed. 

Embarrassment came after, his trouser leg rolled up past his knee and a few escaped feathers absconded for whatever it was Crowley wanted with them. He didn't look up when a congealed cup of cocoa was set at his elbow, forcing himself to focus on threading his calf. Crowley could see his sock garters like this. It was _scandalous_ , really. 

Crowley tried not to watch too openly as Aziraphale stitched his leg back on. He could tell he was uncomfortable, but the sock garters were tartan and hideous and adorable and he couldn’t help but sneak looks when he was sure Aziraphale wasn’t looking. He’d thought about asking if he could assist after helping Aziraphale hop back inside, but thought better of it at the embarrassed look on Aziraphale’s face.

He had to admit the tree looked… better with the ornaments actually hung on it, though he’d made sure it wasn’t nearly as uniform as the one he remembered from Christmas Town. He still preferred the wreath with the bow facing the wall, however, and was relieved Aziraphale felt the same.

“Feel like you’ve been losing a lot of limbs around me, angel.”

“Everyone falls apart for the Pumpkin King,” he retorted, neatly knotting the end of his thread and rolling his ankle to make sure everything was attached and functioning. 

Crowley snorted and rolled his eyes. “It’s really, really not as exciting as everyone seems to think. Three hundred sixty-ish days of the year, it doesn’t even matter, really. Just a normal bloke like everyone else.”

Except for his near constant contact with the mayor and his adviser and the attention and accolades from the rest of the town besides, Aziraphale mused. It wasn't a topic they tended to discuss, but _normal_ hardly seemed to cover it. “Why do you keep the title, then?” he asked, rolling down his trouser leg. 

Crowley scowled out the only window that faced the mansion the Angels occupied. “Because I’d rather be skinned alive and worn as a pair of snake-skin shoes by Madame Tracy than allow Gabriel to turn Halloween into a borning list of checks and boxes. Did you know at the last Halloween Festival Meeting he advocated for a set number of spiders and bats? And if you brought more than was ‘allowed,’ you’d be disqualified? How would you explain to Helga she’s not allowed to bring all eighty-nine of her spider children to Halloween Night because the max is twenty? It was absurd! Thank someone I have the ultimate vetoing power, wasn’t about to let that stand. No, I’ll pass the title on to Adam when he’s ready. Until then I’ll just… deal with everyone putting me on a bloody pedestal.”

He sunk as much as the ungiving couch cushions would allow. “Sssorry, didn’t mean to go off on you there. Not your fault Gabriel is a prick and wouldn’t know scary if it bit him on the wing.”

“It's alright, my dear.” Though Aziraphale would disagree about Gabriel’s ability to be scary, he kept that to himself. “Do you know, I had to make those awful charts? Did he even present them? I knew you'd say no, regardless, so it was such a waste of time.”

“He didn’t even make his own charts?!” Crowley gasped, head swiveling to Aziraphale, then growled. “Bloody hell, I knew he was lazy, but that takes the cake! He _did_ present it himself, but half the time it was like he didn’t even know where what he wanted was. I was kind of hoping he was just going senile… Maybe I should make a rule that the suggestions you bring forward have to be written in your own hand; that’d show him.”

Aziraphale giggled, tucking his needle behind his ear. “He would never present again. I'm very sorry he isn't going senile, but the impression might possibly be my fault. I didn't like the layout he gave me, so I may have... taken some liberties.”

Crowley snickered. “It’s fine. Because of that horridly boring presentation, I made a rule that any suggestion brought forward had to be able to be summarized in three minutes or less. The idiot wasted the entire meeting with his crap and didn’t give any time for anyone else to present. I didn’t even need to convince Tracy and poor Shadwell had nodded off a third of the way through. I might have as well, but no one can prove anything when you don’t need eyelids to sleep.”

“Excellent work, then, on both of our parts. But thank you. That should cut down on some of the work I have to do.” At least in regards to Gabriel and his ridiculous paperwork. 

“Yeah well, anything to annoy Gabriel and free up more of your time.” Crowley absently fiddled with the feather sticking out of his breast pocket. There was one there, one behind both ears, and a few stuck into his trouser pockets. “Now, you mentioned this Sandy Claws rides a sleigh and what? Gives things to people? Is it a ‘gives them what they deserve’ sort of thing?”

“It seems to be? At least somewhat.” Aziraphale glanced at Crowley’s fingers, but still refused to say anything about this silly new habit he'd apparently picked up. “He has a team of eight or nine reindeer, depending. He lands on rooftops and breaks into homes through their chimneys, then leaves different things for those on his Naughty or Nice lists. The naughty ones get coal, which is wonderful. Probably to encourage them to start fires.”

Crowley nodded enthusiastically and resisted the urge to smell the feather again. Thus far he’d been able to get his ‘Aziraphale fix’ because he was _right there_ , but now he was across the room and not, apparently, coming any closer, and how was it even possible to _miss_ someone you were currently having a conversation with in the same room? “Yeah, can’t go wrong with coal to get a nice steady fire going, though I think I’d prefer kindling and some gasoline if you wanted to start trouble.”

“Perhaps he's teaching them self-sufficiency. The nice ones get rather dull gifts, like dolls and simple toys. Though they also get jack-in-the-boxes, and I haven't been able to figure out if this Jack is dead or alive before being forced into a box. Or where he might be getting so many men named Jack, though it's very possible that the name is just a suggestion.”

“He could be like Eric, who multiplies himself at will. Though I don’t think the sleigh would be big enough to carry that many Eric-in-a-boxes.” Crowley wiggled on the couch, trying to covertly make just enough room for Aziraphale to come sit with him if he wanted to. “Maybe Jack is what those little people who seemed to do all of Sandy Claws's bidding are called. There were quite a lot of them.”

“The elves? I suppose so. I couldn't find anything which gave them names.” Aziraphale tried to keep the fondness out of his gaze whilst watching Crowley wiggle, heedless as to why he was doing so. The silly serpent. “That seems to be the most important bit, though. The presents for children. And then all the decorations. I think family might be important as well, but I'm not sure.”

Crowley hummed thoughtfully. “But how does he know who’s ‘good or ‘naughty?’ Who makes the list? And how much bad do you have to do to get on the naughty one? And who gets to decide what’s bad anyway? I mean, I scare everyone, but it’s what I’m supposed to do. Does that make me on the good list? Or goes the scaring in general cancel that out?” Apparently there was a lot to this Sandy Claws gig, a lot more than there was to the Pumpkin King one. Crowley was not appreciating the complexity. Even if the questions were interesting to ponder, it was no use if there were no answers forthcoming.

Luckily - or unluckily - Aziraphale was a thorough, avid reader. 

“Oh! It was in one of the songs.” Aziraphale finally gave Crowley what he wanted, popping over to scoop up the song book and perch next to him on the couch. “Here now. Santa makes the list and judges who's naughty or nice. 'He sees when you're sleeping, and he knows when you're awake.'” If only the silly song didn't encourage them to be good for goodness sake. That sounded ridiculous. Perhaps it was some sort of translation error. “The judgement itself sounds perfectly arbitrary.”

“So what you’re saying is he just makes it up as he goes,” Crowley said, trying not to look too particularly pleased that aggressively thinking _please come over here_ had actually worked. He spread his long legs just wide enough to press his knee to Aziraphale’s leg, to feel the warm point of contact.

“Yes! Despite all the propaganda promoting charity and goodness and, ah, oh, what was it? Peace on Earth and goodwill toward men. Despite all that nonsense, it does all seem rather fun, doesn't it?” In an obscure way. Something to watch from a distance. “And there's such a unique thread of cheer and joy through it all.”

Well, fuck. He’d been half-tempted to say bugger it and just keep the Christmas stuff between them, seeing no reason to go out of his way to make a big scene, but Aziraphale _had_ said he wanted the town and people to be more cheery, so more cheery they would be. “And, uh, when is this Christmas supposed to happen again?”

“The presents get delivered after sundown on December... 24th. You know, there was another tale I rather liked about a green creature called the Grinch who stole Christmas. Until he took all the gifts and things back to town, it was thoroughly enjoyable. I'm going to take the ending out of that one, I think.”

Oh. Was that- Had that been a hint? Was Aziraphale trying to tell him he should- “Stole- Yeah that's... that's properly wicked, that.”

Shit. He only had… a month and a half? Would be cutting it close, but if he could get the whole town on board… it might be doable. First, he’d have to remove the competition though.

“It was. I thought you'd like the sound of him.” Aziraphale closed the song book and smiled at him. “Are those all the things you wanted to know? I took copious notes.”

Crowley bobbed his head. “Yeah, uh. Yeah. Think so?” He said, still slightly lost in the logistics of absconding with an entire holiday on such short notice. “Thanks for, em, helpin’ out. Would’ve taken me forever to figure it out on my own.”

The distracted tone gave Aziraphale pause, his smile faltering. “Of... Of course, my dear. I'm designed to provide assistance, after all.”

“Well, you’re pretty good at it,” Crowley said and gave Aziraphale’s arm a gentle bump with his elbow, reveling in whatever contact he could get. It was likely he would be too busy in the coming weeks for many more get-togethers like this, but it would be worth it to see how happy it would make Aziraphale. Possibly even happy enough to swoon into his arms if it all went right.

“Oh.” The smile slipped entirely. “Thank you.”

“'Course, angel. I’d be completely lost without you.”

He highly doubted that. But he nodded anyway. “Well. If that's all?” 

“Hm?” Crowley blinked down at him. “Er, yeah, I suppose. Did you need to get back?”

“Yes,” he lied, but was it really? He did belong in the estate. He rose and picked up the two books he still wanted. “No need to walk me to the door,” he said before Crowley’s rustling met its usual conclusion. “I know where it is.”

“Wha- er. Angel, don’t be ridiculous. 'Course you know where the door is. Sʼnot the point,” he replied and lurched to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all. I just need to go.”

Crowley deflated a bit. Everything felt like it had been going so well, why did it suddenly feel like he’d been knocked back five steps? “Oh, alright. You know you don’t have to go unless you have to. Can stay as long as you like.”

“Yes. I know.” And he no longer wanted to stay. 

Aziraphale gave him a weak smile, and quickly strode out. The front door clicked quietly behind him, but it may as well have been a shriek to Aziraphale. With his first breath of the crisp autumn air, his hurt feelings blew into an intense feeling of foolishness. He'd invited this upon himself, hadn't he? He'd told Crowley he'd be happy to help him with things, after all. Of _course_ the snake would take advantage of that the first chance he got. 

And of _course_ he'd realize the Angels were right about him. One favour and he'd stopped existing for Crowley as anything other than a commodity. He'd withdrawn so quickly, and the sprawl which had seemed so welcoming had suddenly felt like Crowley attempting to push him out of his space instead. He should've caught the hints. The feathers sticking out everywhere were clearly Crowley's way of making fun of the way he'd lose his stuffing, and the press of his legs and the leaning in had all been to make him uncomfortable. 

How silly of him to actually _enjoy_ it. 

Sighing, Aziraphale left the porch and trudged home. At least he knew he _was_ good at his purpose. The Angels had done a remarkable job designing him. It was silly having gotten used to feeling as if he might be more. 

The estate was darker than the streets when he arrived, slipping in through a side door he'd discovered just that morning. Hidden behind an old portrait he'd been instructed to reframe. He'd ended up polishing what was already there, and Uriel had been satisfied. As satisfied as Uriel could be, anyway. Xe was a mystery. 

He made his way to the Eastern wing, avoiding the worst of the creaking stairs with a practiced ease. He'd gotten quite good at sneaking about since meeting Crowley, though perhaps he should stop? He didn't _want_ Crowley to think of him as someone who would do chores for him, but he also didn't want to disappoint him. It was an irritating cycle. 

Once safely in his room, unseen by his creators - and he should be grateful, he _was_ grateful, he'd be better - Aziraphale sat down at his desk and lit a few candles before opening the little Grinch book. Candles were less likely to be noticed than his lamp, he knew. Wrenching out the colourful pages about hearts growing three sizes and Christmas meaning a little bit more was cathartic, as was shredding them into tiny pieces of confetti to pitch out his window. The handful fluttered wildly in the breeze, dozens of paper squares whisking away into the world. 

He was calmer when he returned to his desk, opening the larger tome and flipping through the first two ghosts to reach the third. Perhaps he could continue seeing Crowley? He'd just have to tell him he couldn't do him any more favours. They could work on things together, perhaps, or work out a trade. A better trade than, “We gave you life, so you have to give us everything.” Yes. He didn't know what he'd want from Crowley, but the serpent had a wonderful imagination. He'd likely come up with something all on his own. 

But first he'd give it a few weeks. Time enough for him to calm and for Crowley to get used to life without him again. 

Satisfied with his plan, he leaned in and began to read. 

> _“Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point,” said Scrooge, “answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are these the shadows of the things that May be only?”_
> 
> _Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood._
> 
> _When that the man of patchwork readeth these words of mine, in his chambers of the Eastern end, then the fall of holy days are certes upon us. Open thine eyes to understand. Open thine eyes and rede, I do say, foolish man of patchwork, for thy lights shall go out._

Aziraphale leaned back, taken aback. That wasn't what followed. Scrooge was supposed to be begging for his life. “'Thy lights shall go out?'” he said to himself, frowning. “What does that-” 

He broke off when his unboarded window swung open, frigid wind stealing in and whipping away the flickering flames of his candles. He gasped as he was left in darkness, only the light of the crescent moon and those distant, distant stars and star ghosts streaming into his room. He went to his window to close and latch it again, and saw the starlight had painted a Christmas tree across the glass. Fuller than Crowley’s, but covered in the same baubles, he reached out for it and just barely touched his fingertips to the winged doll impaled on top when the glass splintered. 

The image shattered, and Aziraphale got a sinking feeling deep in his gut. 

Perhaps he shouldn't have helped Crowley learn about Christmas. 

The Angels were annoyed the next morning. Aziraphale didn't know why, but no one burdened him with tasks because they had to leave before they could think of any. Something, he overheard, about Crowley and “his stupid Christmas ideas.”

They weren't stupid, he wanted to say, but they were probably dangerous. And not in the fun way. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about the premonition. The words in his book, the shattered window which, it turned out, had not actually been shattered. Definitely a terrible premonition. 

And definitely something he needed to warn Crowley about. Hurt feelings or no, the serpent was still his friend. Aziraphale wasn't going to let curiosity kill a serpent as readily as it would a cat. 

He snuck out soon after the Angels left, intending to head to Crowley’s familiar home, but had been brought up short by the line winding all through town. The Angels took up the rear and, though not close enough to hear them, Aziraphale knew Gabriel would be complaining about having to wait. 

The patchwork being knew better, so skirted the line by making his way down different streets and eventually finding himself at the theatre. It also served as the space for their most important town meetings. And this, with only one person or group being left in at a time, was the reason why the line was as long as it was. Aziraphale, as he'd done so many times at the estate, found an alternate entrance and slipped in unnoticed. 

He made his way to the stage, hearing Crowley’s voice, and slipped in the back amidst the enormous fire-damaged curtains. They still pleasantly smelled of smoke. 

He watched the street musicians step onto the stage, but barely noticed them over the sight of the ridiculous serpent. He _still_ had Aziraphale’s feathers scattered about his person. _What_ was he attempting to do? That ridiculous snake. And, oh, what if the Angels saw?

As he watched, though, some of the worry faded into simple affection. Crowley looked so cheerful, so _pleased_. And the music _did_ sound better when played sourly. He tried to slip out of sight when the musicians began to wander off the stage, deciding to question Crowley about all of this later, but the heavy curtain snapped off its rings. Aziraphale yelped in a way he'd forever deny when it collapsed right onto him instead. 

So caught up in making sure Eric and his multitude of musical copies (all also, annoying, named Eric) knew what was expected of them, Crowley hadn’t spared a thought for checking his surroundings and making sure no one was sneaking up on him. Besides, Old Shadwell was manning the door and anyone who wanted to cross him was going to have a bad time and Madame Tracy was around here somewhere gathering the supplies he’d told her he was going to need.

The sound of the curtain hitting the floor and the yelp that followed had him turning in his gold-backed throne to watch the squirming lump under the moth-eaten, partially burned, stage curtains. He could see distinctive cream and tan in the copious holes and the yelp had been particularly familiar.

“Right, er, Eric...sss. Uh, make sure you spread that to your other… selves. I want it perfect, you hear me?”

The three identical beings shuffled their way out, heads together as they examined the sheet music. One of them muttered something that at least sounded like an agreement. 

Crowley pushed himself out of his throne, giving a stretch and letting his spine pop in numerous places. “Oi, Shadwell! Gimme a few before you send the next one in!” he called and sauntered over the increasingly distressed curtains. He knelt next to the writhing mass and gave what he assumed was a safe lump a gentle poke and clicked his tongue. “Now what have we here? A troublemaker, if I’m not mistaken.”

“ _Hardly_ ,” Aziraphale huffily protested, still managing to sound haughty even buried in fabric. “Now don't poke at me, Crowley. Just get this _off_.”

“All right, all right. Keep your stitching in.” Crowley snickered and worked on finding the edge. He was secretly glad he’d loosened the curtain rod a few months back just for this sort of occasion. When he eventually found and lifted the edge up, he gave Aziraphale his best toothy grin, despite the patchwork man kneeling and scowling up at him. “What were you doing sneaking around back here anyway?”

“I wasn't _sneaking_.” He had very clearly been sneaking, so sighed as he took Crowley’s offered hand. “I was... avoiding being seen.”

Crowley pulled him to his feet, enjoying the soft warm fabric under his palm and not wanting to let go. He was actually surprised to see Aziraphale so soon. He’d expected not to see him until at least a little later, once he enacted part of his plan, Aziraphale usually avoided him for at least a week or more, as was custom after they’d had a row. He still wasn’t quite sure this one could be called a row, though. Normally, he could at least pinpoint what it was he’d said or done that had set Aziraphale off. Not this time. The way Aziraphale had withdrawn, rebuffed him, had been reminiscent of the first, and last, time he’d gone off about how the Angels treated him. He hadn’t heard from Aziraphale for a full month after that and had missed him terribly. He couldn’t remember saying anything like that this time, but maybe he’d let something slip. “Yeah, that’s what we call sneaking, angel.”

He ignored that, pulling his hand away to link them, twisting his ring. “What's going on, Crowley? The Angels were complaining about you having Christmas ideas and, well, the entire town seems to be lined up and waiting to see you.”

“Er, well….” Part of him had been banking on Aziraphale doing his usual routine of avoidance. Easier to hide the surprise that way. “Kinda, you know, had an idea I thought would be fun.”

“And you need the entire town for it?” 

Crowley squirmed in place. “Yes?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale stopped fidgeting, hands clasping neatly as he gazed up at him. So it wasn't _just_ him. This Christmas thing was a _town_ plan, and Crowley had just come to him first. _Oh_. That was so much better, but his premonition... Aziraphale wasn't sure if he should be pleased or wary. “Well, what is it? Why didn't you tell me?” 

“Mmmnyegh.” Crowley flushed and ducked his head. How could he explain without giving it all away? “It’s, you know, thought a new holiday might be fun. Liven things up between Halloweens.” Would Aziraphale accept that explanation? It’s what he’d just told everyone thus far, hoping they didn’t inquire further.

Aziraphale studied him carefully, once again worrying the ring on his finger. “You... want to have a fake Christmas?” 

Crowley nodded encouragingly. “Yup. Didn’t look that difficult when I saw ‘em doin’ it in Christmas Town. And, I mean, I'm sure we could do it better anyway.”

“Oh, yes, I've no doubt about that. I heard the Erics, and it sounded properly horrid.” But the window with a Christmas tree had shattered, the vision not one easily brushed aside. Something dreadful could happen. “You're not going to do anything especially dangerous, are you? More than usual, I suppose.”

He grinned, liquid warmth sliding down his spine. “Aw, angel,” Crowley said, stepping close and cupping Aziraphale’s elbows. “Are you worried about big, bad, ol’ me?”

Very much so. “I just know how you are with your ideas,” he replied as dismissively as he could. Not quite able to scoff, but nearly. “Always so over-the-top.”

“Gotta put on a good show, after all. Don’t worry, though; according to all those books you read, Christmas is as dangerous as Adam’s little ghost mutt.” Which, if Crowley had stopped to think about it for more than a few seconds, he would realize that Dog's numbing ectoplasm saliva could be quite dangerous in the right circumstances.

It didn't exactly succeed in soothing Aziraphale anyway. Halloween Town was more dangerous than Christmas, and the evil was always vanquished in the Christmas books. Though, as Crowley had said, he wasn't _evil_ just because he frightened people. It was what Halloween celebrated. So, perhaps... “Is there anything I can do? I'd love to assist in some way.” Any way to keep an eye on him because, well, Crowley just seemed so excited. Telling him about the premonition would only be a disappointment. Best to just keep an eye on him. 

Crowley bit his lip and glanced at the pile of paper and material he’d collected for this harebrained scheme. “I wasn’t really sure if you’d want to.” Not after last night. “Buuut I do have something I thought your talents would be perfect for. Only if you want to, though.”

Maybe he'd criticized Christmas a bit too much in his rantings about the books. He didn’t want Crowley to feel like he wasn't supportive. “Oh, anything, my dear.”

“Brilliant!” Crowley grinned and grabbed his hand to pull him over towards the throne. “Now where did I…? Oh! There it is!” He reached under a pile of stockings to pull out the sketchbook Aziraphale had left on his coffee table. He flipped to the correct page. “You left this, last night… and uh, I, er, got, you know… curious… Anyway! I saw you drew me in the Sandy Claws suit erm.. was....”

 _Gosh_. Embarrassment zinged through him as he snatched the book from Crowley’s grip. The drawing of him in the Santa suit had been something of a lark, a quiet amusement amongst the multitude of other sketches he'd made of the serpent. To think that he'd _seen them_. “I- You, ah... You want me to make you a proper Christmas suit, then?” 

“Yes! Exactly! You mentioned the other night, about making things for me, but obviously you don’t have to, I can ask one of the witchy seamstresses in town! If you, you know, would rather not.” He had been planning on simply procuring Aziraphale’s talents from the Angels and just asking someone else to do it if he was too upset about it, but this was much better. “I’d like it, if it were you, though.”

Aziraphale hugged the book to his chest, grateful that Crowley wasn't going to tease him for the rest of the sketches. “Perhaps if the mayor was to tell the Angels I'm temporarily in the employ of our Pumpkin King...”

Crowley smirked. “I was, er, actually already planning on having Shadwell back me up in asking them.. Gabriel _does_ like to boast how they don’t have to rely on ‘local help’ for their clothes.” He lifted one of those soft cloth hands to his lips and pressed it there for a quick second before quickly turning around before Aziraphale noticed his red face. “I’m glad you're on board, angel.”

Aziraphale blinked at his retreating back, then down at his hand in amazement. Oh, he'd never done that before. This Christmas thing must've been very important to him. Aziraphale couldn't possibly let him down.

He took the departure for a dismissal, though, so disappeared backstage. He had to get home before the Angels returned and gave him the, ah, good news. 

There was a ruckus the next time Shadwell bellowed “Next!” 

Shoves and uncomfortable _squelches_ and _slurps_ , protests cut off halfway and a faint _splash_. The four who approached the throned serpent next had not been the next in line, but they'd gotten bored. A wagon wheel squealed with every turn, the grating sound following them all the way to the stage. Only at the steps did the scaled, sharp-toothed being climb out of the water-filled wagon to follow the other three up. 

Hastur, the slimy toad being, sneered as well as he could without lips. Gabriel wasn't the only one who was convinced that Crowley didn't deserve his title, but he and the three beings with him were a little more open about it. “Wha's all this, Crowley?” 

Crowley glared down the four creatures at the foot of the stage, the putrid water in the wagon making his nose wrinkle. Why most of Halloween Town associated ‘scary’ with ‘completely disgusting’ was beyond him. “Thought you lot were told to come later.”

“It'z later,” the fly-like being buzzed, enormous eyes as bored as xir tone. “Unlezz you don't want our help at all.”

“No, no. Your help is definitely needed.” Unfortunately. Crowley had been reluctant to call upon Satan’s ‘demons,’ but they were the only beings in Halloween Town, apart from himself of course, that he felt could take on Sandy Claws and succeed. Though if they couldn’t and never came back, it would be one less yearly headache for him.

“Who do we get to kill?” Ligur demanded, leathery skin nearly blending into the background. 

“No! No killing, not this time. What I need,” he leaned over one of the golden arms of his throne to rustle around in the box there, pulling out one of the many childrensʼ picture-books Aziraphale had not been impressed by, “is for you to find and bring _this_ creature to me.” He turned the book around and pointed to a picture of Sandy Claws climbing into a chimney. “I need him alive. Feel free to rough him up a bit if you have to. I assume he won’t come easy without a fight.”

They crowded around the book to study it with varying degrees of interest. “Where iz he?” Beelzebub asked, and Dagon smiled her sharp, vicious grin as Crowley began to talk about the Infernal Woods. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Syl  
> In which Crowley and Aziraphale are just as good at communicating as ever 🤣
> 
> ladydragona  
> Yes the miscommunication is strong in this one asdfghjk
> 
> Edit:  
> Syl  
> [Missing scene with art!](https://saminander.tumblr.com/post/633338396544204800/sylwritesstuff-gosh-that-was-all-aziraphale) Someone had to pick up Aziraphale’s missing leg~
> 
> -
> 
> Find us on tumblr at [SylWritesStuff](https://sylwritesstuff.tumblr.com/) and [theladydrgn](https://theladydrgn.tumblr.com/)! 💖


	5. Chapter 5

“The Angels are finally next.” Madame Tracy's spidery lashes fluttered, sharp eye catching the way Crowley sat up a little straighter in his throne. “Ooh, trying to make a good impression on little Aziraphale’s creators there, you sly snake?” 

Crowley gritted his teeth and refused to acknowledge she’d said anything. Ever since he’d returned from the Infernal Woods she’d been like a wolf with a fresh steak. _Apparently_ one of his neighbours had noticed Aziraphale’s comings and goings, though Tracy was a sly witch and had coyly talked around admitting which one. She was convinced there was something… _salacious_ going on between him and Aziraphale and no amount of denials would placate her.

Instead of rising to her bait, he chose to, instead, focus his attention on the wheels and flames and wings of the approaching Angels.

Gabriel stepped onto the stage first, the other three flanking him. They'd spent the majority of their day _waiting_ , so were less than pleased. In the square, their Halloween countdown had been replaced with a disturbing _Christmas_ countdown. They wanted answers, but were waylaid by Young Shadwell. 

He smiled, slow and suave. “Hello, you lot. Sorry about the wait. Las' minute holiday preparations take their time, ye ken.”

Gabriel flicked several violet eyes from Young Shadwell to Tracy to Crowley. “Holiday preparations?” 

“Oh yes. Didn’t you see the sign? In the square? It’s quite large and has been there for ages, but I suppose it might be hard to focus on just one thing with so many eyes to deal with,” Crowley said with a grin, showing off his fangs.

Gabriel gritted his teeth. “We _have_ a holiday, and your foolhardy-” 

“Viciousmen, please,” Tracy soothed. “The mayor would like to have a word before we begin.”

“A word?” Michael wondered, arms folded lightly. 

“Oh, aye.” Old Shadwell's scowl swiveled into view. “S'it true yer patchwork bloke sews fine clothes?” 

As much as none of them wanted to compliment Aziraphale directly, their fondness for their own fireproof suits were well-known. “Yes,” Uriel replied carefully, their scapegoat. 

“Wonderful! Ye'll be turnin' 'im over to Mr. Crowley.”

Four beings went very still, Sandalphon breaking first. “What.”

“You heard the mayor. I’m taking custody of A-him.” He silently scolded himself for almost slipping up. He was barely supposed to know Aziraphale existed, let alone his name. “I have need of a talented seamster, but since your word is all the proof I have, I want to see his skills for myself. Make sure it’s... up to snuff. If he proves unsatisfactory, you’ll have him right back.” Of course Crowley knew he wouldn’t. Aziraphale was the best in town and if things went according to his plan, they wouldn’t be getting Aziraphale back at all.

Michael regarded him cooly. “It seems to me his skills may have come up when he's... spending time with you. Some of the town youths - The Them - seem to think you may be friends? Of a sort?” 

Crowley froze and matched them stare for stare. He could do this. This wasn’t unexpected. He was already warned about Michael's suspicions. A lot was riding on him saying the Right Thing, though. If they found an excuse to refuse, it was quite possible they would work extra hard to keep Aziraphale under lock and key.

He cleared his throat and shifted to look bored. “And you believe the tall tales out of the mouths of our town's biggest troublemakers?” This next bit was going to sting, but he could weather it. “I’m much too busy to spend my time indulging in the fancies of a doll.”

“And yet you want him now,” Michael continued, certain he was lying. 

Gabriel, however, waved it away. There was simply no conceivable explanation for something like _Aziraphale_ to get close to their Pumpkin King. “It's fine. You can have him, but he'll annoy you within the day. He's soft and he's lazy anyway. Massive waste of magic, bringing him to life.” 

It was a monumental effort to not launch himself off his throne and do something to Gabriel that couldn’t be fixed. How _dare_ he call Aziraphale lazy. How _dare_ he say ‘soft’ like it was something to be ashamed of. Plenty of beings in their town were soft in various ways. Pepper and many of the other were-people had soft fur, the crazed butcher was soft around the middle (like Aziraphale but different, very different), and even the lake monster had a soft tongue hidden behind rows and rows of sharp teeth.

Crowley bit back all the nasty things he wanted to say. “Good. I expect him at my doorstep with all the things he needs to make me an outfit by this evening.”

“We'll send him, but it's highly likely he won't make it. He's something of a runaway. Uncontrollable, really.” Gabriel gave him a dead smile. “You would have fewer problems with anyone else.”

Oh, he knew all about Aziraphale’s ‘runaway’ tendencies. Had heavily encouraged them, in fact. He grinned cockily instead of laughing in their faces. “While the concern is… _appreciated_ , I don’t foresee having any trouble keeping control of a doll. If that is all, you are dismissed.”

Gabriel’s jaw went tight. “You had us waiting all day just because you wanted _Aziraphale_?” 

“Come now, Gabriel. You should be honoured you managed to create something your Pumpkin King has need of. It’s not often I rely on our citizens. Are you saying my gratitude is not enough? I could give you a Christmas task, if you so wish.”

Uriel shook xir head. “That won't be necessary. We'll send the doll.”

Sandalphon's lips curled into something between a grin and a snarl. “And we're not picky about the state he's returned in.”

The four of them vanished in spires of flaming light, and Tracy rounded on Crowley with a cluck of her tongue. “Well, weren't they odd. And aren't you quite the liar.”

Crowley scowled at her. “You have no proof.”

“I don't need proof, do I?” She smiled. “You rather like that Mr. Aziraphale, I'd say.”

Old Shadwell scowled at them. “Dinnae need details on th' lad's love life, Jezebel. Ifin he wants to steal the doll away from the Angels, he can.”

“Finally! Someone with some sense around here!” Crowley exclaimed and shoved himself to his feet. “Unfortunately for you, Madame, I do not have to stick around and put up with this blatant disregard of my terrifying character.” He marched off the stage and towards the exit, hearing Tracy coo and giggle like she was wont to do behind him. He didn’t have time to argue with her; he needed to hunt down The Them and give them a stern talking to.

Crowley stormed through the town, a snake on a mission. He couldn’t believe- actually, no, he could believe The Them had ratted on him. Not one of them had a filter and, while that was one thing he generally liked about kids because of the utter chaos it could cause, there were times when certain things needed not be said. Especially to nosy, bad for nothing, Angels.

No one dared try to stop an obviously pissed off Pumpkin King, most too busy with their Christmas making to worry about what particular bee had gotten in his bonnet. Crowley only took the barest of note that his requests were being honored as he skirted around the fountain and headed towards Hogsback Swamp.

The swamp was sparsely populated for many a reason. Its most notable citizens included The Swamp Thing, who had a stranglehold on a large portion of the real estate, a sisterhood of hags who enjoyed cursing any unfortunate soul who wandered too close to their den, and The Them.

Crowley stepped delicately across a bridge of fallen logs that served as the only way to cross Hogsback Swamp without actually stepping in it. He was an old hat at avoiding the worst of Halloween Town's nastiest ground surprises considering the ‘snake-skin shoes’ he wore were not shoes at all but just his feet covered in thick layers of scales.

A small shack was the only building in the swamp, its ramshackle tin roof riddled with rust and holes and the walls bowed almost to the point of collapse. Crowley stepped right up to the door of the shack and rapped twice on the thick metal. He paused for a second before knocking three times in rapid succession, paused, then knocked twice again. He waited, scowling and counting to ten slowly in his head. At ten, a small window at the top of the door slid open and a single, wolfy, eye stared back at him.

“Password?” asked Pepper.

Crowley groaned. “You already know who I am!” Pepper slid the window shut and Crowley hissed dramatically at the door. “ _Fine_! The Spanish Inquisition! Happy now?!” They always made him go along with their ‘secret hideout’ routine. It was embarrassing.

There was a silence long enough that he almost thought he’d have to start with the ‘secret knock’ all over again but then came the complicated series of rattles and clicks that signaled multiple bolts and locks being undone.

Pepper regarded him cooly when she finally opened the door. “I shouldn’t even let you in at all. You didn’t do the password properly. _And_ you’re late.”

“You try giving individual tasks to the whole town and see how on time you run,” he grumbled back. “And you know exactly who I am, shouldn't have to do the whole routine.”

“Actually, you could have been a shapeshifter,” Wensleydale pointed out, pushing up his broken glasses. “That’s the whole point of having a password.”

“Right,” Adam agreed. “‘Sides, all good hideouts have passwords.”

Crowley groaned. He hated the ‘four-against-one' routine, or 'three-against-one' in this case. “Alright, alright. Can we get on with it? I have a bone to pick with you lot, but not up here.”

Looks were exchanged, the trio communicating wordlessly before nodding, and leading the way downstairs. Work tables were littered with glass jars filled with fluid or unidentifiable matter or extremely identifiable matter or some combination of the three, potion bottles, swamp water, and one colour-changing test tube on a shelf that was labeled “Brian.”

He was currently on an operating table and upside down, a timer ticking away as he slowly, slowly slid down. “Hi, Crowley,” he greeted cheerfully.

“He’s cross,” Pepper told him with a huff.

“Oh. That’s alright. How come?”

Crowley didn’t even bat an eye at the sight - The Them were often running experiments on their perpetually dripping friend - but he did have to hunch his shoulders in order to not knock his head against the stone roof of Wensleydale’s underground lab.

“Alright?!” Crowley snarled. “It’sss not ‘alright!ʼ” Now that they were inside, he didn’t fear them being overheard. “You lot ssssaid ssssomething you weren’t ssupposssed to sssay!”

Three sets of eyes - and a few tucked in jars - looked Pepper’s way. She lifted her chin. They all knew what he was talking about. There was really only one reason Crowley would actually be cross with them. “They called Aziraphale a doll and said you were too important to hang ‘round him, so I defended him.” There was a beat. “And accidentally said you were friends.”

He groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I’m not mad you defended him, someone other than me bloody well needs to, but you can’t go around saying we’re friends!” One stupid slip up early on, before Aziraphale had made him promise not to tell anyone, could now be ruining everything.

None of The Them mentioned that she’d done so in front of the majority of the town.

“I won’t do it again,” Pepper assured him instead.

Crowley sighed. “Better not. Don’t make me have to drown you in the lake.” Not that he _would_ , but the threat was there all the same. “You’re lucky I still need you for Operation: Steal Christmas.”

Wensleydale perked up at that. “I made some blueprints based on Aziraphale’s sketches! We’re going to collect some bones later.”

Now this was more familiar ground. “Good! Adam, you remember which mausoleums I told you were good pickings?”

“‘Course I do. _And_ we have Pepper’s nose.”

“That’s species-ist.”

“But we do actually have your nose, Pepper.”

Said nose lifted, unimpressed by both Adam and Wensley’s assumptions. “ _I_ have my nose.”

“Okay, but you can’t just use a good nose. You go opening up any ol’ mausoleum and you’re liable to let Something Out that Shouldn’t Be Out. I can’t be watching over your shoulders to make sure you don’t get blipped out of existence by The End or devoured by a tentacle creature from the bowels of another dimension.” Being Pumpkin King was more than just creating spooks; a large portion of the job was making sure the spooks stayed where they were supposed to stay. “If you’re unsure, or can’t remember if I said something was safe, _don’t open it_ on your own. I’d rather you lot come get me to double check.”

“How come you’re not coming with us?” Brian wondered, his shoulders slipping off the operating table.

Crowley sighed. “As much fun as it is chasing after you all, I unfortunately have to make sure the rest of the town is doing their jobs right. If this all goes the way I want it to, you won’t have to worry about not saying anything about me and Aziraphale. But it has to go right first. Hell, if it works you can go scream it from the rooftops for all I care.” Okay, so Aziraphale might object to that, but it wouldn’t be _his_ fault if they did so. Not like he had complete control over them; they had their own agency and could do as they wanted. Within reason, of course.

“Does Aziraphale have a job?” Adam queried, brow furrowed. “Doesn’t seem right if he doesn’t have one too. He likes feeling part of things.” He could tell.

“‘Course he has a job. He’s making my Sandy Claws suit.” But Crowley frowned. He hadn’t really given much thought to Aziraphale being excluded from most of the town's activities. It wasn’t something he, personally, had ever experienced, at least not until he won his title. And even with it he still got to interact with everyone and do Halloween. “Do you… Do you think he’d prefer doing something with everyone?”

More silent communication occurred between The Them, and it apparently fell to Wensleydale to explain the obvious. “I think he’d be happy just so long as you’re there when he’s sewing, actually.”

Oh, good. Crowley relaxed. He hadn’t just royally screwed up. “Well, that should be no problem. He’s staying with me until this is over.” Preferably forever.

“Well, if you’re gonna be in town a lot, maybe you should make sure he has a spot,” Brian suggested.

Adam, a little jealous that he hadn’t thought of that, nodded quickly. “Yes. And you need to make sure you tell him you appreciate him, not just what he’s doing.”

Pepper huffed. “ _Obviously_.”

“Actually, is he already at your house?” Wensleydale wondered.

Crowley blinked slowly, mentally doing the math in his head for how long he’d been out. “ _Shit_!” He turned on his heels and dashed up the stairs. “Don’t open anything you don’t trust, and if it says ‘keep out,’ it’s probably fine!” he threw over his shoulder, hearing his voice echo back at him. The kids would be alright. Probably.

He narrowly avoided falling headfirst into the swamp as he ran over the log bridge. Cursing himself for being so stupidly careless, for forgetting Aziraphale was supposed to _be at his house_. He hadn’t even cleaned up all the extra Christmas preparation nonsense from the previous night and that morning.

Crowley transformed into a snake as soon as he felt solid ground under his feet. Having legs was great and all, but they really slowed one down. He dove into the dead grass on the outskirts of the town proper and weaved his way towards his own property. A few of the lizard people who lived out here stopped to wave, but he really didn’t have the time to indulge them.

He reached the limit of how fast he could slither as his house came into view, cream and tan a stark contrast to the black and dark grey steps leading up to his door.

Transforming again while still on the move, Crowley misjudged quite how fast he was going, and the distance which he would need to stop, and barreled right into his friend. “Azirammmmph!” Sending the both of them sprawling into the nearby grass.

For one of them, it was like colliding with a pillow. For Aziraphale, it was very much not that at all. More like being hit by a rather large whip. All he could think when they landed was that it was a very good thing the basket of fabric had already been set down and, oh, Crowley was a chilly thing top to bottom and should this happen again, their positions should reverse so he could keep the silly serpent warm.

Not that this was going to ever happen again, Aziraphale blinking as Crowley let out a string of flustered noises and did not actually attempt to get up.

“My dear, are-” Aziraphale realised his hands had found Crowley’s slender waist sometime in their fall. He should probably let go. He did not let go. “Are you alright?”

Crowley stuttered out a string of consonants, completely not prepared to feel Aziraphale’s softness _everywhere_. Or the warmth all up and down his front. Part of his brain screamed at him to stop laying in the dirt like an invalid, but it was very small and drowned out by the very vocal hissing snake part of his brain that definitely did not want to leave the warm soft spot it’d just found.

He pushed himself to his elbows, one hand having apparently decided to protectively cup the back of Aziraphale’s head in their fall, so he could at least see his friend's face. “Hgk, mmm, yup.” He didn’t trust his tongue to speak much more for fear something like ‘ _waaarmm_ ’ might slip out.

“Tip-top.” It was worse, Aziraphale decided, to have the distance. To be able to _see_ him. Much, much worse. Especially with the hand in his curls, as intimate as their position. “Ah. Jolly good. What were you doing?”

“Er.” He had been wrong. Pushing himself up had been a mistake. Being able to see Aziraphale’s blue eyes looking up at him and with their noses so close... Yup, bad idea all around. “Late. Was, ngk, late.”

His lips would probably be cold, but Aziraphale could so easily imagine them warming against his own. Far too easily, in fact. He made himself let go of Crowley’s waist lest he feel like Aziraphale was keeping him in place. “I don’t recall us having a set time to meet. Unless, ah, you meant something else.”

Crowley shook his head. “N-no. Didn’t, er, want you thinking I’d, erm, left you out here.” It was almost impossible to talk and think while being pressed from chest to hip with Aziraphale’s soft person. Every impulse screaming out to just sink into the warm comfort and not let go. “Sssorry about, ngk-”

“No, it- As long as you’re alright, I suppose.” Aziraphale didn't know what to do about having him so near. If it went on much longer, he really would reverse their positions and wouldn't _that_ be a sight. “Could I, perhaps, get out of the dirt now?”

Crowley flushed scarlet. “Nyh! Y-yeah,” he choked out, scrambling up, even if it was the exact opposite of what he wanted to do. Of course Aziraphale had been uncomfortable, how selfish could he be? “S-ssssorry. Didn’t mean to-” He waved his hands around frantically before offering one to help. “Here let me-”

Aziraphale took his hand after a moment, letting Crowley pull him up. “Thank you. You don’t have to keep apologising, my dear. I think we’re both just fine.” And he was certainly going to remember what it felt like to have Crowley atop him for a very, very long time. “I’m fairly certain I didn’t even catch on anything for once.”

“Good. Don’t need to be the reason you keep losing stitching.” He missed the contact immediately. When had the world gotten so cold? “Come on, let's get you inside before a stray thorn makes you lose a foot.”

“Ah, but where would you be without all the feathers I’ve been losing as of late?” Aziraphale brushed the dirt away from his trousers before turning. “Is my coat filthy?”

Crowley grinned. If Aziraphale was teasing him, that meant they were still good. That he wasn’t upset about being knocked to the ground by an armful of snake. “Let’s take a look.” He examined the back of his coat, finding quickly that there _were_ a few small patches of dirt. “Wouldn’t say filthy, but here.” Crowley ran his hands across Aziraphale’s broad shoulders then down his back. Brushing away the dirt, but also feeling the sturdy fabric frame beneath the coat. Fuck, he would be good to wrap around. He'd always known, but now he _knew_. “There, good as new.”

“Well, _that_ , I doubt. But thank you.” Crowley could be very sweet at times, and having those clever hands against him... Aziraphale smiled over his shoulder, gazing at him through silk lashes. “Though I think next time I come and fail to find you here, I'll just let myself in.”

“I can just give you a key,” Crowley said, feeling bold enough to slide his hands back to Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Unless you prefer breaking and entering.”

Aziraphale went still under the unexpected touch, not sure how or if he should be encouraging it. Perhaps it was just a game? “I'm rather used to breaking and entering, but I... I don't suppose I'd mind having a key.”

“Well, you’re in luck then. I just so happen to have a spare.” Not that he’d made one the second he decided he wanted Aziraphale around always. “Come on.” He gave the sturdy shoulders under his hands a squeeze then retreated to grab the basket next to his door and actually unlock the house.

Aziraphale blew out a slow, careful breath before following. “Is it true that you've, ah, taken temporary custody of me? The Angels seemed exceptionally put out when they arrived home.”

Crowley grinned and swung the door open, motioning for Aziraphale to go in first. “I did convince them to release you into my care. And did my best to… waylay Michael's suspicions.”

“Oh, you didn't succeed. But Michael's always been cleverer than the others. So long as Gabriel doesn't believe it, it's fine, and he thinks I'm far too dull to interest you.” Among other things. “I'll need to go back tonight to retrieve some things, though. They sent me only with red fabric for your suit, and it's not nearly enough.”

He shut the door behind them and ushered Aziraphale into the parlor, scowling at the thought of him returning at all. “Well if it’s fabric you need, I can easily acquire it. Red isn’t a hard colour to get a hold of. But, you are free to come and go as you like regardless.” He disappeared into his study to grab the spare key. He didn’t want Aziraphale thinking he was a prisoner here. “It was quite funny, really,” he called from the other room. “Gabriel was trying to convince me about how much of a ‘runaway’ you are, and it took everything I had not to laugh in his face.”

“I can't imagine why. He's quite right.” Aziraphale took the key with a smile and pocketed it. He'd stitch it in for safekeeping later. “And it isn't just fabric for you I need. I need to replace sections from time to time, and I need my books.”

The books! That was the real reason, of course. “Well, as I said, ‘m not forcing you to stay here all day and night. That’s why what Gabriel said was funny. You’re not runnin’ away. Not from me. You can leave whenever you like and I trust you’ll come back when you’re ready to. Just like we always do.” And Aziraphale going out to the town or for a walk was significantly less painful than him having to return somewhere he wasn’t actually wanted.

Aziraphale was certain Crowley would be tired of him long before he was ready to leave. “I suppose if I'm staying here, you'll have to get used to seeing me more than once or twice a week. Do you think you're prepared?”

Crowley crossed his arms. Was he prepared? What a ridiculous question, he’d been wanting to steal Aziraphale away for much longer than it would have been feasible. “That sounds like a challenge, angel.” He turned and threw a grin over his shoulder. “What makes you think this wasn’t my diabolical plan all along?”

“Common sense, dear boy.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Alright. Come here, let me show you something.” Crowley sauntered down the hall, past the study and kitchen, and waited by a closed door.

Aziraphale blinked at it, fidgeting with his pinky ring. He hadn't actually ever been so far through Crowley’s home. “What is it?” 

“Open it and find out.”

“That sounds exceptionally ominous.” Amused, Aziraphale opened the door and stepped inside. He hit the light switch in deference to the lowering sun, surprised to find a bedroom that almost appeared... cosy. By Halloween standards, anyway. There was a whole wall filled with nearly empty bookshelves, a desk that looked fire-damaged with a rickety chair, cobwebs in every corner, and one of the biggest beds Aziraphale could ever recall seeing. This couldn't possibly be just for him. That was... It was impossible. “A... a guest room?” 

Crowley snorted. “When have you ever known me to have guests? Let alone ones who need this many bookshelves.” Aziraphale’s obvious bewilderment was endearing and he couldn’t help but watch him look around the room with fondness.

“Well, I wouldn't expect you to... It seems so...” Aziraphale went to one of the windows, not sure if it faced North or South but knowing the view was different and didn't involve the estate. It even opened, the squeal it made making Aziraphale smile before he turned back. “Oh, my dear, I don't know what to say.”

“S'alright.” Crowley mumbled and rubbed the back of his head. “Just, you know, wanted you to know you’re welcome here.”

Aziraphale crossed to him, taking his hand with a fond squeeze. “Thank you, Crowley. You're constantly surprising me.”

Crowley blushed and squeezed back automatically, Aziraphale’s hand warm and soft in his. “S'no big deal. Wasn’t using it anyway…” That wasn’t completely true. It used to be where he stored extra Halloween awards, but who really needed every iteration of ‘loudest scream’ from every Halloween?

“Oh, and you're usually such a good liar, too.” Aziraphale beamed, more in love with him than he could ever remember being. He'd made a space for him. Somewhere with shelves for his books and without demands. He had a key when he didn't even have one for the estate. If this Christmas was truly supposed to be a disaster, this was not any sort of proof. He bobbed up to kiss Crowley’s cool cheek. “You're really the best friend I ever could've wished for, my dear fellow.”

“Guh,” Crowley said articulately, Aziraphale's soft lips like a hot brand against his skin. He was pretty sure he was dying. Or maybe flying. Heart beating too fast in his narrow chest and lungs refusing to the job they were made for. “Nuh, mmmm, yeah. I-I'll just-” Why was his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth? Work, damn it! “Kitchen.” Better than nothing.

He stumbled away from Aziraphale’s room _that he was now residing in_ and hid himself in the kitchen to get a proper hold on his stupid heart. It was still beating out a rhythm like a drum while also trying to crawl out of his throat. He pressed his face against a nearby cupboard and tried to control his breathing. Aziraphale said _friends_. Best friend. He could be that, he could do that. And friends kissed each other on the cheek sometimes, right? That was- that was normal. Nothing to get worked up about. Nothing at all.

Aziraphale was telling himself the same thing and chastising himself for being so forward. Clearly, he'd gone a step too far. It had just felt so... right to do. 

He should know better, really, than to trust his instincts. 

Aziraphale eventually joined him in the kitchen, startled by dinner being prepared. Startled more when his efforts to take over were rebuffed. He was handed a new sketchbook, the bindings only a little frayed, along with a broken pencil and shooed to the table with instructions to _enjoy yourself, angel. Just- just relax._

Those were certainly new orders, ones Aziraphale fell into with relative ease. Watching Crowley fuss about in a kitchen at least gave him some material to work with, Aziraphale’s smile as soft as the sounds of his pencil working over water damp pages. 

Dinner was easy, the retreat to the parlour with the drinkable sort of spirits normal. When Aziraphale set his glass down at his usual level of mildly tipsy, however, Crowley had refilled his glass with a reminder that he didn't have to walk home. He could stay. He _was_ staying. 

Getting good and properly drunk with Crowley ended up being quite the time. When Aziraphale awoke hours later, he was pretty sure he'd even kissed his cheek again just to impishly watch him redden and listen to his stutters. Gosh. 

Since it was dark enough, though, he did end up walking home after all. Sneaking in, gathering his hidden treasures, and disappearing again. In the morning, Crowley discovered just how sneaky Aziraphale could be. 

He hadn't heard a single creaking floorboard or squeaky cupboard door, but when he stumbled into the parlour long after the sun, he found breakfast waiting and Aziraphale nearly stitching a small, mock version of the Santa suit onto some sort of doll. His Christmas angel had been saved from the floorboards and now presided over the parlour atop the tree. Decorations had been shifted and for the first time in longer than Crowley could remember, his fireplace wasn't spitting black smoke back at them. The only sign of the reason was a spot of black over the shoulderblade of Aziraphale’s coat, unnoticed and unreachable by the ragdoll in question. 

“Morning, my dear.”

Crowley blinked owlishly around. He generally considered himself cleaner than most other Halloween Town denizens, but even he occasionally left crumbs on a counter or flecks of grease on the stove. And the fireplace… Well, black smoke was a surefire way to make others assume he was burning something nefarious. “Morning… Angel did you- did you get up and do all this?” The breakfast smelled fantastic though.

“Oh, it wasn't that I woke up to do it. I was already awake and... wanted to do a few things. But I saw you had rotten eggs and the omelettes just got cold, so you've wonderful timing. Come eat.”

“Oh, er, right.” Crowley did as he was bid and slid into a chair at the table, still not sure what sort of reaction was expected here. He’d never had someone _make him breakfast_ before. There had been offers of various domestic natures early on, citizens vying for his attention, among other things, but he’d turned them all down. This was _new_ , not a bad new, just new. He lifted the plate and slid the entire omelette down his throat. It was cold and slimy and just the way an omelette should be. “Oh, that’s good!”

Aziraphale beamed. “Wonderful. I know you like to eat eggs whole, but a little variety doesn't hurt now and again.”

Crowley shook his head. “Nah, doesn’t hurt. Variety’s good. Get boring if everything stayed the same all the time.”

“Mmhm.” Aziraphale set aside the tiny doll wearing the nearly-completed suit. It looked very much like one of the Angels and, in the estate, Gabriel had been suffering from the most peculiar feeling of being stabbed over and over again. “Do you mind if I take your measurements before you pop off for the day?” 

“Huh? Er, yeah. That’s probably something you need, innit? Go get set up in the parlour and I’ll clean up in here.” He stood and grabbed the plates to take them to the sink, not about to let Aziraphale clean up _after_ he was the one who made breakfast.

“Oh, no, you don't have to do that. I'll need something to do while you're in town.”

Crowley blinked once, purposefully, and continued edging towards the sink. “Nuh-uh. You cooked, I clean. Besides, you’re not staying cooped up in here all day. Gotta keep an eye on you, make sure you’re doing it right.” He winked before swirling around and getting to work. 

Aziraphale blinked at him. “I... I'm sure you have more important things to do than spend time with me. I'm really rather dull.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and scrubbed. Aziraphale had already cleaned most of the dishes before he'd even woken up, but he wasn’t about to be a layabout in his own house. “I’ve known you long enough to know better than that.” Honestly, Aziraphale was the least dull thing in Halloween Town. “And besides, I think you’ll have more fun this way. You don’t have to, obviously, but you were never allowed to get involved with Halloween prep - why not join in now that you have the chance? And don’t worry about feeling like you don’t know what you're doing; this Christmas thing is new for everyone.”

Staring at his back, Aziraphale felt warmth spread from the center of his chest until every bit of him felt well toasted. “I think I know a sight more than most, considering all the reading I've done. You're really going to let me work outside like everyone else?” 

“ _Let_ you-” Crowley stopped in his scrubbing to halfway turn around and look at Aziraphale. “Of course I’m going to- Bloody hell, angel. You’re part of Halloween Town, should be a damn crime to keep you out of it. It’s literally the least I can do.”

“Oh...” It was as sweet as giving him his own room. “That'd be wonderful, dearest. I'll certainly do my utmost to avoid embarrassing you.”

Crowley flushed and quickly went back to scrubbing with more gusto this time. ‘Best friend’, kisses on cheeks, ‘dearest’ - at this rate he was going to combust or just keel over. “‘M sure you’ll be fine. The combined embarrassment from both Shadwells and Madame Tracy has made me immune to anything less.” Though lately it was mostly Tracy. He hoped for his sake she didn’t make Aziraphale too uncomfortable today.

“Alright. Well, I'm ready for you when you're finished there. I've got my measuring tape prepared.” He picked up the tiny doll, sticking the needle straight through its ear to give Gabriel quite the headache, and rose. “Better to do that now in case you get dragged away from me.”

Measurements. Right. Aziraphale touching him, being close. Fuck, he was going to need to keep his useless heart under control.

Crowley quickly finished scrubbing, left the plates out to dry, and followed Aziraphale into the parlor. 

“Alright, then. How do you want me?”

In any and every way. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Ah. Do you mind standing on the coffee table so I can measure your legs? You already wear such tight trousers, I don't need you to disrobe.”

“Ngk, y-yeah, I can-” He stepped onto the coffee table with only a small twinge of disappointment. Though it was probably for the best, the hags at the in-town clothing emporium had all but torn his clothes off last time he needed to update his wardrobe.

“Thank you. Though I will need you to, ah, unbutton and push them down a smidge so I can get your hips. I think we'll do that last.”

Nevermind. This was worse. So much worse. Aziraphale’s warm hand on his leg, the heat soaking through his trousers. Should he watch? Would that be weird? Was it weirder to not? Everytime Aziraphale’s touch disappeared to write the numbers in his little book and then came back he twitched at the new touch.

Crowley dropped his head to watch, to at least be prepared and not jump around like a slowly dying spider.

Aziraphale smiled encouragingly at him. “Are you always this jumpy when you get measured? I need to get your inseam now. Step one leg forward a touch, could you?” 

“Hryk. Mmm, yeah. Sorta. Don’ like, er, standin’ still.” He shuffled his foot forward and did avert his eyes this time to stare up at the ceiling and imagine the Swamp Thing in various configurations instead of Aziraphale’s soft hand- Nope. No. Not going there. Not now.

“Mm.” Aziraphale nervously fiddled with the measuring tape, not sure if he was relieved or not to have Crowley's gaze elsewhere. “Ah. This might be a little... intimate,” he warned, trying to pretend Crowley was some sort of mannequin. That he wasn't endlessly fascinated by these long legs. That he wasn't touching Crowley’s thigh, his own breath stuttering to a halt as he forced himself to be professional in his touch and not take advantage. He nearly succeeded, holding the top of the tape with his thumb digging into the crease where his inner thigh met his groin and slid the other hand down in a smooth, very unnecessary stroke. At the floor, he noted the number and quickly let go to jot it down. “Um. Now the, ah, the other one if you please.”

Crowley was certain he was going to die for real this time. He’d barely been able to bite back the gasp at Aziraphale’s warm touch right at the highest point of his inner thigh or the shiver at the soft hand that had caressed his leg. It had to be a caress, there was no other thing it could have been. Doing it a second time was absolutely going to send him to whatever existed Beyond. And the Swamp Thing was only going to keep him from embarrassing himself for so long.

He shuffled his other foot this time and settled on watching again. He could just look away when Aziraphale’s hand got- got too close. It would be fine. He’d be fine.

Aziraphale touched his thigh against, pressing the tape in and flicking his gaze up. He didn't quite gasp, but he sucked in a surprised breath to find those golden eyes lingering on him. Oh, my. “Nearly... Nearly finished.”

Maybe he had died, expired in his sleep and sent to live out his greatest fantasy. Aziraphale touching him, looking up at him like that. He couldn’t trust his mouth to not blurt out ‘I love you, I love you’ so he kept it shut and bobbed his head in a jerky nod.

When Aziraphale finished and released the tape to record in his book again Crowley had a chance to breathe a breath of relief he was still alive after that. Even if his heart was doing double time and his face felt like it did when he fell asleep on his roof in the summer.

“There now. That wasn't so bad, was it? I just need two more numbers and then, ah, well. I'll need your blazer off, at least.”

“Mmnyh it’s, it's not bad, no.” It was too good and ten times worse than the position they’d ended up in yesterday. Yesterday had been mostly overwhelming with too much sensation to pinpoint anything specific. This was… not that.

He removed the blazer and tossed it onto the nearby armchair. “Anything else?”

“Just a minute.” Aziraphale looped the tape around the thickest part of Crowley’s behind, taking the circumference. “There. I just need your hips, so...”

Right. The button. The button he had to unbutton. The trouser button.

With trembling fingers he slid the little piece of tarnished metal through the eyelet and shimmied his trousers down just far enough to expose his hip bones. His shirt and waistcoat bunched up, Crowley trying to ignore the fact that Aziraphale was seeing a new bit of his skin and the cold air nipping at his flesh.

Aziraphale was trying very hard not to think about where his hands were, paying more attention to keeping them from trembling as he carefully looped the measurer around him. He kept his touch light, but heard, “Your skin's always so chilled.” It took him a moment to realise it had come from his own mouth. 

Crowley flushed and tried not to twitch every time Aziraphael’s fingers brushed his bare skin. “M'a snake. Cold blooded. Don’t make m’own heat. Gotta get it from somewhere else.” It was embarrassing, really. Too cold and he went catatonic, too hot and his limbs grew heavy and all he wanted to do was soak it up. There were other things too, snakey traits he couldn’t shake no matter how long he spent ‘humanoid-shaped.’ He was a snake that could just so happen to appear like a person, not a person who could fantastically turn into a snake.

“Yes. I, ah, I don't mind it.” He wrote down this last measurement to give his treacherous hands something to do. “You can fix your trousers now. I hope you weren't too uncomfortable.”

He did so quickly, putting them back where they were supposed to be. Low, but not _that_ low. “It’s fine. I- I mean, I’m not- You didn’t- It’s fine.” He grabbed his blazer and shrugged it back on to give himself something to do other than sound like an idiot. “We should probably get going before Shadwell loses his head.”

Aziraphale nodded, closing his sketchbook. He still needed Crowley's top measurements, but that was alright. He could begin with the suit trousers. “Oh, yes. Right behind you, my dear.” He slipped his sketchbook into the basket of fabric and plucked it up. “Do you think this will be similar to Halloween preparations?” 

Crowley threw a grin at him and sauntered out the door to lock it behind them. “Certainly hope so. Though I expect I’ll have to do a lot more supervision than usual. Most are pretty self sufficient for Halloween, we all know the drill. Christmas is a whole new animal. You’ll probably be the only one with any idea what you're doing.”

“That's a good thing, I suppose. You won't have to worry about me. I don't want to keep you from anything important. You should enjoy your little Christmas.” Though that also meant Aziraphale could keep an eye on him. He'd make sure his premonition didn't come true. 

It wasn’t going to be a ‘little’ Christmas if he had his way, but Aziraphale didn’t need to know that just yet. Let him be surprised. He smiled to himself at the thought of how pleased Aziraphale was going to be when he took Sandy Claws’s place this year.

“Eh, I’m going to try to delegate most of the babysitting to Tracy and Shadwell, if I can. Even if they don’t quite get it, they're pretty good at making sure others stay on task. People think I’m scary, but you haven’t known true terror until you’ve had Tracy brandishing her whip at you.”

Aziraphale chuckled. He rather liked Tracy. She'd been to the estate before and, while he hadn't actually spoken to her, he'd managed to hear that she liked his biscuits. “I'll take your word for it,” he assured Crowley and felt the first true buzz of excitement as they strolled towards the sounds of an excited, wild crowd. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Syl  
> The chapter that almost made us up the rating 🤣 That Crowley sure is clumsy 😏
> 
> ladydragona  
> Mostly my fault, but I'm not apologizing
> 
> Find us on tumblr at [SylWritesStuff](https://sylwritesstuff.tumblr.com/) and [theladydrgn](https://theladydrgn.tumblr.com/)! 💖


	6. Chapter 6

Aziraphale had only seen the town in daylight a few times. Once immediately after his creation, caged in by the four Angels so he could see the world he'd been made in and why he didn't fit. He'd been more intrigued than wary and had soon realised he'd had exactly the wrong reaction as _outside_ privileges had been instantly revoked. 

Since then, if he'd needed ingredients or supplies, the Angels had gone to get them. They could flicker in and out with ease, after all, though Gabriel certainly never went. Someone else always had to and Aziraphale never failed to hear a muttered, “We should make a better one if this one's so defective.”

A broken doll, according to them, one which didn't perfectly do as he was told. Tossable. 

He didn't feel that way next to Crowley, though he was struggling to hide his smile. He didn't want anyone to see, to think him rude, to embarrass Crowley. They walked near enough that their arms occasionally brushed, and it really only made it harder not to let his lips curve. 

There was a faint fog curling around their ankles, the sun never quite hot enough to burn it all away, but he knew Crowley soaked it in like a battery anyway. There was a reason he did most of his work in the open field by the woods, and it wasn't only for the space. 

Being in town with him, though, was very different from being near the Infernal Woods with him. The beings approaching them were, more often than not, unable to look at Aziraphale for long. They kept their attention on Crowley and, well, Aziraphale couldn't blame them. He was striking. Completely at odds with everything Aziraphale was, really. Sometimes, he could only marvel at their friendship. Never when they were alone, as that was always so simple and had been from the beginning, but around others? 

Around others, he couldn't quite understand what Crowley got from him that he didn't get from all of these followers. Er, admirers? 

They were all filled with questions, though. 

_“Is this Christmassy enough?”_ was the main topic even when those weren't the exact words used. 

But the energy in the air was frenetic and rushed, the countdown hovering near thirty. Everyone was rushing, but there was an undercurrent of excitement with it. Aziraphale wondered if he was absorbing it, feeling staticky himself the further they went into town square. 

Until they were stopped by two someones who actually had authority. Young Shadwell threw his arms out, beaming. “Would ye lookit all this, then? Whole town's comin' together with all their tricks.”

“They're making a terrific go of things,” Tracy agreed, smiling Aziraphale’s way. He beamed back at her, delighted by her sharp-edged teeth. “And how are you, dear? Away from those Angels?” 

“Oh! Ah. Well, it's unusual being away from home.” That felt like the diplomatic answer. “But Crowley’s being properly terrible.”

“I'm sure he's being quite the brute,” Tracy teased. 

“Oh, yes, I’m being quite the monster.” Crowley gave Tracy a look he hoped said “you’d best be on your best behaviour” and not “please shut up before you embarrass me.” The coy smile and wiggle of her eyebrows did not give him confidence his intended message was received. “Now, Shadwell, we talked about this, we’re not looking for _tricks_. This isn’t Halloween. I need-” He chanced a glance at Aziraphale, not sure if this was going to give it all away or not. “I need joy, cheer. You do know what that is, yes?”

Old Shadwell swung around, scowling. “Aye. S'not difficult, is it? There's plenty o'tha' about. One of the beasties made 'imself a hat outta an old rat. Right cheerful.”

“Oh, I'm sure the tail makes it very unique. Though I'm curious about the picture a bat may make instead. The wings, you know.” Aziraphale patted Crowley’s arm. Silly thing. A Halloween Town version of Christmas already felt fun. Plenty of that cheer in the air he'd been wanting on Halloween, though he doubted his opinion truly mattered. “But it does feel rather exciting.”

Crowley grinned down at Aziraphale. “I think you might be onto something with the bat.” He snapped his fingers in Shadwell's direction. “Make it happen, I need to get Aziraphale here set up.”

Old Shadwell started to draw himself up to grumble, but Tracy looped an arm around one of his and grinned wickedly. “Of course,” she purred, quieting the grumblings. “You'll have to take a look about when you've a chance, luv. Everyone's fading away waiting for your word.”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely wasting away without me I’m sure,” Crowley said and shooed the two of them away before Tracy got bold enough to start making insinuations. The town would survive a few more minutes without him lording over them, and if they didn’t, the local necromancers were just a call away. “Come on, angel, let’s find you a spot.”

Crowley led them deeper into the town. All around were creatures stuffing leaves into various dead animals, the butcher using his carving skills to whittle masks twisted into silent screams, the ogres had been procured to smash wooden tubs of berries (poisonous and otherwise) into coloured dyes and paints, the witch covens were busy using their potions and herbs to make candied J’s, and the town's only fire-breathing dragon was keeping multiple fires going to make plenty of charcoal.

He scanned the crowds, looking for somewhere to place Aziraphale that wouldn’t be too overwhelming for a first-timer but also close enough to feel involved. Adam had said Aziraphale wanted to “feel part of things” so by the full moon Crowley was going to make it so. Eventually, he spied an open space right at the end of one the coven's workstations. Anathema had an open seat next to her, brewing something which spewed pinkish-red vapour.

“Hey, Ana, neighbour, this spot isn’t taken, is it?” Even if it was he planned on procuring it. Anathema and her lizard husband were a quiet pair and, though he rarely actually talked to them, he felt more comfortable sitting Aziraphale near someone he could at least recognize to blame if something happened.

She blinked at him, eyeing them both through artfully cracked glasses. “No, it's... free.”

“Perfect!” He grinned at her with more teeth than was strictly necessary, then turned to Aziraphale. “Here you are then, angel. If you have a problem, let me know and I’ll be back to, er, check up.”

“Oh, I doubt I'll have any issues,” he replied, his cheerful tone and bright smile intensely and highly unintentionally terrifying. As if he'd make very sure he wouldn't have problems. “I've got everything I need.”

Crowley didn’t think that he would actually need any help, but would be around all the same. The whole point of getting Aziraphale out from under the Angels was so they could spend time together, after all. “Alright, well, I’ll still be back.” He had the intense desire to lean over and place a kiss on Aziraphale’s fluffy curls but resisted it. This was neither the time nor the place for gestures of affection.

Instead, he turned on his heel and stalked off before he said something too telling. He needed to find Tracy and make sure she knew the wrath she would be inciting if she said anything overt to Aziraphale as well as ensure everything was running smoothly.

Aziraphale tried not to stare at his hips, sighing quietly as he took his seat beside the witch. He glanced at her, frown coming a little easier with Crowley not sticking around. “Hello. Anathema, was it?” 

Anathema eyed the patchwork man shrewdly. She almost never saw him around town and when she did, he was either scurrying between buildings like a thief, which she approved of, or was strolling up to the Pumpkin King's door with a huge grin on his face and too much pep in his step, which made her nervous. The pep and the strolling, not the seeing the Pumpkin King thing. “...Hello, and you’re… Aziraphale, yes?”

“Oh, yes.” He smiled automatically, but quickly tempered it. “You’re one of Crowley’s neighbours?”

She added some peppermint to her brew, which Crowley had been very adamant about, but who had also been unsure about how strong it should exactly be. “That’s right. My husband, Newt, and I.” She narrowed her eyes a bit at him. “You seem to visit him a lot.”

He reached into his basket to retrieve the book with his measurements, averting his gaze. “No, I don’t.”

Her eyebrows shot up at the blatant lie, then a grin spread across her face. “You’re a terrible liar. I live right there; I’ve seen you.”

He glanced over at her, surprised to see her smiling. He squirmed a bit in his seat, reaching into the basket for some fabric. “Well. I’d- I wouldn’t call it _a lot_. I pop in on occasion.”

“If you like. It’s nice to see him finally having guests. I was starting to wonder if the old snake was going to be a shut-in for the rest of his life.” She mixed her small cauldron and added a pinch of stinging nettle. No candy was complete without a little kick.

“Crowley? I’m sure he could never. He’s so vibrant,” Aziraphale sighed, then caught himself, sitting up a little straighter. “A-and wicked, of course. Diabolical. Obviously.”

 _Oh_. Anathema examined Aziraphale from the corner of her eye. Yup, she knew that look; it was the same look Newt had given her every day before _and_ since their wedding. Completely lovesick. That explained everything. “I’d personally say he’s a menace, but I suppose ‘wicked’ would do.”

Aziraphale bit back his laugh, lips quirking despite himself. “Well, he’s that too.”

Anathema decided then and there that Aziraphale was an alright sort. She’d never cared for the townsfolk who up and kissed their Pumpkin King’s feet. She lived next to him; she knew how often he shedded. “So what are you making here, then? That’s quite a lot of red.”

“Crowley asked me to make his Santa Clause suit. I’ve seen firsthand how awful the poor dear is with a needle and thread,” it had taken quite a while for him to fix his ear, “so he certainly wasn’t going to be able to handle it himself.”

“Oh, I know how that is. Hand anything delicate to my Newt, and it just gets torn to ribbons. Though, for him it’s because of the claws. I imagine Crowley must have trouble with arms and legs and all that considering snakes aren’t supposed to have them.” She knew he had trouble with his legs; that walk was impossible for anyone with sensible joints.

“I suppose.” Aziraphale picked out a fabric marker and his measuring tape to begin. He was good at working through distractions. “He truly doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hips, does he?”

Anathema snickered, her suspicions confirmed. At first sight she wouldn’t have put them together, but she supposed opposites did attract. “Not when he walks, that’s for sure.” She gave the brew a delicate sniff and turned down the heat to let it settle.

Aziraphale hummed noncommittally, very deliberately not thinking about his hips in any other context. It helped that he liked that walk of his, though. His messy saunter never failed to draw attention, which is just what he imagined the point was. Crowley liked putting on shows, after all. “He’s a very fluid serpent, though. It’s a lovely form. Er. A frightening one. He’s an enormous, murderous beast,” which came out far more fond than intended.

“I mean, I can’t judge you if you like him,” Anathema said, trying to hold back giggles. “My husband _is_ a lizard after all.” It was sweet, she thought. For as long she’d known Crowley, he had been very much alone. It was about time he found a companion.

“Oh?” Aziraphale measured and marked, trying not to think about touching Crowley’s legs. He latched onto the new topic, wary of divulging anymore of his feelings towards him. No one else needed to know how foolish he was. “And how, ah, how did the two of you meet, dear girl?”

Everything, as far as Crowley could tell, was running about as smooth as could be expected. He’d honestly thought he’d need to do a bit more prodding to keep everyone on task, but besides a few exploding cauldrons and the occasional need to break up a werewolf-on-vampire fight, it was almost exactly like the yearly Halloween preparations. Apart from the much brighter colours that was.

He made sure to check in with Aziraphale as often as seemed appropriate, though perhaps a little more often than that. Not because he was worried about him or anything, not at all, he just had to make a good show of ‘keeping Aziraphale in line’ just in case one of the Angels decided to disgrace them with their presence. He almost needn't bother, however, as none of Aziraphale’s creators showed up and it seemed like him and Anathema were getting on like a house on fire.

Crowley knew he should be glad that they were getting on, but something about it made his skin itch. Everytime he looked across the crowds and saw Aziraphale smiling or laughing at something Anathema said, it made him feel useless but also like he wanted to march over there to demand to know what was so funny. It was stupid. He should have been elated Aziraphale was making a friend, after all he was the _best_ friend. Which was better and more important than _regular_ friend. But if he showed up to “check in” when it seemed they were getting a little too chummy, that was his business.

It was happening _again_ , only this time it was Aziraphale, in the middle of his stitching, who had said something that made Anathema throw her head and laugh and Crowley desperately wanted to know _what it was that was so funny_. Unfortunately, a commotion over near the square needed his attention so he tore his gaze away and stormed towards the rising voices.

He pushed his way through the crowd of people, picking up pieces of what had happened as he went. From the sounds of it, someone’s workstation had been upended. When he finally made it through the throngs of people, most yelling or shoving each other, it was almost a surprise to see Beelzebub and zir companions with a large sack thrown atop a nearby table.

“Oi, Crowley!” Ligur snarled. “We found your Sandy Claws.”

He eyed the four of them warily. This was fast, much faster then he’d expected. And the sack, which was definitely wiggling quite violently, was not nearly big enough for how large he remembered Sandy Claws being. “Didn’t take you very long.”

“'Course it didn't,” Hastur said. “We're not _idiots_.”

That was debatable, in Crowley’s opinion. “Right then. Open ‘em up. Let me see the blighter in daylight.”

No sooner had the tie been lessened than a cherry-cheeked baby zipped out. It flew upwards on pristine white wings, holding a bow and notching a heart-shaped arrow with pudgy hands as it warily looked around at those gathered. 

“What in all the nine circles of Hell is that?!” It looked… it looked like a smaller, patchwork-less Aziraphale to Crowley, at least in the face. Chubby-cheeked with bright blue eyes and blond curls - the only thing missing was the stitching around the scalp and mouth. The body was distinctly infantile, however, and the wings honestly didn’t look large enough to actually hold its weight. The similarities to his angel were unnerving. “What the _fuck_ did you lot do?!”

“We went through the door,” Ligur explained. “Grabbed the first pillock we saw.”

Crowley was going to strangle someone, preferably one of the four idiots in front of him. “ _Which. Door._ ” The flying baby Aziraphale was apparently getting nervous and had started drifting off deeper into the town, looking around while simultaneously avoiding eye contact.

They looked around at one another before Dagon pointed at the flying baby. “The one that looked like those arrows.”

“You didn't tell us there was more than one door,” Ligur pointed out.

“ _Why?_! I said the tree! The ugly tree! It’s not that complicated!” He really didn’t have time for this, and the rest of Halloween Town was starting to notice the bloody thing. Pointing up at it and wanting to know what it was.

“They were _all_ ugly trees,” Hastur pointed out. “Had all them colourful pictures all over 'em.”

Crowley groaned and resisted the urge to tear at his own face. Why, oh why, had he hired these idiots? He then hissed out a “ _No_ ” when the little thing apparently got tired of waiting around and shot off in a random direction.

“Don’t go _anywhere_.” He snarled at the demons and took off after it. Crowley climbed the nearest building, scrambling to the tin roof to get a better view. More people were looking up as word spread and work stuttered to a halt. He really, _really_ , didn’t have time for this, but today had been going too well so perhaps he should have expected some disaster.

Unfortunately, the flying baby seemed headed towards the square and he _absolutely_ could not allow Aziraphale to see them. Crowley swore and hopped from rooftop to rooftop. Luckily, the tiny wings were, in fact, not as good as they could have been and he was able to catch up just before they reached the square.

“Oi! Get back here!” Crowley growled and leapt at them, trying to grab a hold of their tiny bare feet. They zoomed just out of his reach and launched a heart-shaped arrow at him. Crowley just barely ducked out of the way, the arrow bouncing against a tiled roof. “Oi! Don’t you go shooting those at me! S'not my fault you're here!”

That earned him another arrow.

This was getting out of hand. How had those bumbling idiots gone through the wrong door?! His instructions had been perfectly clear. He probably, honestly, should have been making Beelzebub and zir cronies take care of the mess they made, but he knew those particular four beings and had an inkling they would more than likely hurt the little thing. And something about them, probably their uncanny resemblance to a certain patchwork man, made Crowley reluctant to allow any harm to come to them.

Crowley shuffled around, slowly getting between them and the square. “Alright. Listen. I don’t want to hurt you. I very much want to get you back home, capisce? Work with me here.”

Another arrow flew, this one grazing his hair. Fuck, their aim was getting _better_.

“Seriously. Don’t make me come up there and get you.”

They started to notch another one. “Oh, fuck it!” He should have known better than to try and reason with something that was obviously a child who’d been handed a weapon.

He shifted, allowing his body to morph and grow to its natural shape and size. Skin became scales, spine stretching, limbs vanishing. Crowley stared down at the flying baby, towering over it as a serpent of massive proportions. “ _I warned you_ ,” he hissed.

For the first time in his long life, he actually felt bad about scaring something. The baby looked up at him, their Aziraphale-like face twisted in terror with tears springing into their eyes, and zoomed off in the opposite direction.

Crowley hissed and lunged, his massive body easily over taking the tiny thing and wrapping around them. He squeezed, not enough to hurt them - he didn’t think - but enough to keep them still. “ _You brought thisss on yoursssself, you know. I’m usssssually quite agreeable_.” He could feel their tiny fists beating his scales, but at least they couldn’t seem to reach their arrows this way.

He sighed and transformed back. It was incredibly difficult to slither while also coiled around something. His humanoid hands coming up to hold the squirming thing, one holding their head and the other supporting their bottom, which was thankfully wrapped in a white cloth. Their tiny wings flapped desperately against his arms but were not nearly strong enough to do anything, how they held them in the air was a mystery.

“You caused quite a- _Ow_!” Crowley yelped as they bit him right on the clavicle. He held them tighter and hurried back to Beelzebub. They needed to get this thing back home and, someone willing, actually get the right being this time.

At least the demons were where he’d left them, lazing around and looking bored.

“Here!” He snarled and stuffed the winged baby back into the sack. “Take this back, _don’t hurt it_ , and actually go through the right door this time! It’s a green tree with red and gold and silver accents. Bring me the wrong one again and I’ll nail you all to the town hall!”

Beelzebub eyed the bag with a scowl, then gestured limply at it. “Grab it, and let'z go.”

Hastur and Ligur glared at one another, snarls amping up in competition until Dagon swung the wriggling creature over her shoulder. “Fine.”

They started off, Hastur and Ligur muttering under their breaths about ugly trees on ugly trees and see if they ever did any favours for Crowley again, the tosser. 

“Oh, Crowley, today was lovely,” Aziraphale gushed, rolling a pie crust out on the counter. “Everyone seemed so eager to work on Christmas items. All the, ah, gifts and such they were creating are wonderful. I'm sure they're all just like Christmas Elves.” But they and their creations were so much more Halloween-like than the things he'd read about. And no one had gotten injured beyond repair! His premonition had to have been wrong. It just _had_ to be. “It almost seems like too much for Halloween Town alone.”

Crowley was leaning with his elbows on the counter and head in his hands, watching enraptured as Aziraphale bustled around the kitchen making a rotten apple pie. He was reveling in the domesticity of it. Aziraphale in his kitchen, making a dessert they would share later, no clock ticking down on their time together. Now that he’d gotten a taste of it, he wasn’t sure he could go back to the way it was before. “Nah. We’ve worked under pressure before. Couple years ago Gertrude had a sneezing fit and ended up setting half the Halloween preparations on fire three weeks before the big day.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was mortified.” Aziraphale clucked his tongue, catching a worm attempting to wiggle out from amongst the cinnamon bruised apples and casually flicking it back in before neatly draping the top crust over the baking dish. 

“Bit. But m’glad you enjoyed yourself. Would’ve stopped by more, but it looked like you were having fun, didn’t want to intrude.”

“I _did_ have fun. Anathema is a fascinating young lady. Perhaps I’ll meet her husband soon since they’re just next door.”

The uncomfortable itchy sensation came back at the mention of Anathema. Crowley wanted to say “absolutely not” and hoard Aziraphale away for himself. But that was the exact sort of thing the Angels did and Crowley was endeavouring to be the exact opposite of them. Besides, it wasn’t his place to tell Aziraphale who he could and couldn’t make friends with. Which didn’t make him feel any better about it. “Mmm, yeah, sure. If you want. Don’t actually know ‘em all that well, really.”

“Really? She was just... Well, she’s so much more friendly than I expected. She isn’t like you,” because no one could be, “but I rather enjoyed her company. I think she may have even enjoyed mine.”

Crowley scratched a fingernail into the blackstone counter and told any disappointment he was feeling to fuck off. “I mean, I can introduce you, if you like. Tracy and Ana are in the same coven so I’m sure she can’t be a bad sort.” And if Aziraphale decided he liked Anathema’s company better than his, he’d just have to grin and bear it.

“I'm sure you'd like her if you gave her a chance. She called you a menace.” Smiling, Aziraphale scored a spider into the dough in a few neat lines. “So she already has a handle on you, I think.”

That earned a snort out of Crowley. “She only said that cause I hide her broom every time she leaves it outside.” He glanced up to watch Aziraphale slide the pie into the oven, hoping his discomfort hadn’t been sussed out. “Waaaait… You were talking about me?”

“A little bit,” Aziraphale admitted, plucking up Crowley's screaming timer. He knew exactly how long it would take to turn the crust a warm, golden brown shade so added fifteen more minutes to get it crispy. “You had just dropped me off, after all, and she said she's seen me popping in,” a lot, “on occasion. She seemed to think it was... She said it was nice.” Though he wondered how many others of Crowley's neighbours had noticed him. He hoped it wasn't many. 

“Nice...” He could only imagine what that could mean coming from a witch who shared a coven with Madame Tracy. “Suppose it is. Don’t really do the whole ‘visitor’ thing, so I guess I’m not surprised they got nosy.” And now he knew who to blame for Tracy and her wild ideas.

Aziraphale looked down at his hands, turning his ring around and around. “I didn't realise. We could've met elsewhere if you didn't want company here, Crowley.”

“Wha- No! That- that’s not what I- I don’t mind you here.” Shit, fuck, he was being a pillock. He knew that nervous tick. Crowley pushed himself off the counter and crossed the room in two long strides to press his fingers to Aziraphale’s hand. “You’re always welcome here, angel. Never doubt that.”

“I just don’t want to be an imposition of any sort.” He looked up from their hands to meet Crowley’s gaze, not quite sure when the wily serpent had gotten comfortable enough to touch him, but quietly glad for it. “But I suppose... you did fashion an entire bedroom for me.”

“Exactly! If anything, I’d be delighted if you imposed more. And if you want to get to know Ana and Newt, I’ll just have to get used to the idea of having competition.” He hoped as long as Aziraphale was here it wouldn’t be too hard to stay in the Best Friend category.

“Competition for what?”

Fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Erm, that’s, uh,” Crowley mumbled and shifted his feet. “Ya know, you’re my best friend so- Ngk.” How could he say “I don’t want to share what we have” without it sounding like “I don’t want you making friends at all?”

He didn’t have to worry about wording, though, an understanding smile creeping across Aziraphale’s face, tugging at his stitching. “Oh, you silly serpent.” He took one of Crowley’s hands in both of his own, squeezing gently. He cared about Crowley far too much to just replace him. Competition indeed. “That’s hardly something you have to worry about.”

Crowley stared at the way Aziraphale’s hands cupped around his and very much wanted to pull him into a hug. “Thanks, angel. Come on, let's open a bottle and enjoy the night.”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

From there, the routine was easy enough to fall into. They bickered nearly daily over who was going to make dinner, but Crowley had no choice but to concede breakfast as he learned that Aziraphale didn’t sleep overmuch. It was plausible that he didn’t sleep at all until the night Crowley caught him.

They’d been drinking well into the night, as had become custom, when Adam had come knocking and asking him to double check a grave for The Them before they opened it. It didn't take too long to follow the little troublemaker out to the cemetery and confirm the grave in question was one better left shut, but when he returned he was surprised to find Aziraphale fast asleep, sitting up in his armchair just as he’d left him.

Crowley sighed softly at the sight of Aziraphale all relaxed and unworried. When awake, he was always in a perpetual state of nervous ticks but at rest his hands were neatly folded and still over his round stomach with his silk eyelashes fluttered closed against his cheeks.

He knelt next to the chair and ran a thumb over stitched knuckles. “Angel?” Crowley whispered. “Why didn’t you just go to bed if you were so tired?”

Aziraphale just slept on, so Crowley stood to carefully scoop him into his arms. He didn’t know if it was possible for Aziraphale to sleep wrong, per se, but he didn’t want to risk his friend waking up stiff or sore in some way.

“Come on,” he murmured, “let's get you tucked in, eh?” He settled Aziraphale against his chest, a soft cheek resting on his shoulder and warm breath tickling his neck, and carried him to his room. He managed to get the blankets pulled back and gently eased him down to slip off his patchy coat and tuck him in, making sure the sheet and blankets were pulled up to his chin.

He ran the back of his index finger down Aziraphale’s cheek, feeling how soft and warm it was, then reached up to tuck a wayward curl behind his ear. Crowley resisted the urge to kiss his forehead, too aware that this was likely already taking things a step too far. Maybe someday that would be allowed, welcome even, but not now.

“May you have the best of nightmares,” he said, draping the coat on the back of a chair, and left the room, with the door softly clicking shut behind him.

When Aziraphale awoke just a little while later, he was surprised to find himself in his bed. There was only one plausible explanation since Crowley’s home wasn’t currently haunted, but it amazed him just the same. The sweetness in the gesture warmed him head to toe and he was terribly sorry he’d slept through it, but it was far from the only sweetness Crowley had or would show him as the month went on.

The patchwork being slowly grew accustomed to leaving breakfast dishes for Crowley to wash, to splitting household duties, to being able to go for walks whenever he wanted and have Crowley by his side and not hiding himself away. The fairness in the arrangement was unusual, the openness to just exist in the world he’d been created for unusual, but he rather liked it all just the same.

He liked spending time in town, too, though still kept an eye out for the Angels. They didn’t make many appearances over the weeks, but they never failed to leave Aziraphale strung out and feeling guilty. He was going against their wishes in a way he never had before, and they didn’t mind reminding him of them in low voices between buildings. Anathema had tried to stop them a time or two, which was lovely of her, but Aziraphale always brushed her aside and let himself be guided away. They were smart enough never to come when Crowley was near, but the clever serpent always seemed to know when they’d been near anyway.

They did end up meeting Newt eventually, though at their home and not Crowley’s. Aziraphale didn’t want him to bring anyone over if he didn’t want visitors in his home, and the young couple was happy to have them. They taught Aziraphale card games he’d never heard of, and Newt had been as kind as Anathema.

Many beings, even though they still tended to give Aziraphale a wide berth, were kind in Halloween Town. Far more so than he’d been led to believe. More so than the angels continued to tell him in those instances where they dragged him away. The reminders that he didn’t belong started to seem a little... trite, a little desperate. They wanted their servant back and Aziraphale...

Well, he’d probably still go back. They were still responsible for his creation, and he still didn’t have a place to stay after Christmas. He didn’t expect Crowley’s generosity to extend that far. He’d been remarkable thus far, and Aziraphale wasn’t going to overstay his welcome. With Christmas Eve upon them, he was too aware that their routine was over.

The suit was nearly finished, after all, and he did look striking in so much red. Aziraphale rather preferred him in black with only a nod to red here and there, but he made quite the picture in colour. Still, there was a touch of relief knowing his usual outfit was tucked underneath. He’d made the suit big enough for it, and the layers should keep him warm if he planned to actually get on roofs in Halloween Town that night. Silly serpent seemed to be taking this all so very seriously. “Hold still now, my dear, let me make sure it all lays correctly.”

Crowley tried not to squirm, Aziraphale only had to put the finishing touches on the suit and he knew that’s why he was looking him over so intently but it was still a difficult feat. “Am holdin’ still. Not a statue, you know,” he huffed good naturedly.

“No, you’re a wiggling worm,” he teased. “Does it feel alright? It’s not too tight anywhere?”

“Yeah, feels just fine, angel. Comfortable.” He rolled his shoulders to test the give. “Told ya you were the best in town.”

“Flatterer.” Aziraphale lifted to his toes to run his fingers along the white-furred collar to check for any loose spots. “And you’re warm enough?”

Crowley flushed at the touch so close to his neck, at Aziraphale’s face being that close to his in general. “Mmm, yeah. S’nice ‘n’ toasty. Don’t think I’ll have any problems.”

It had been getting harder and harder to step back each and every time they got close to one another, but Aziraphale made himself go once he was satisfied with his handiwork. “I wish I could’ve added more black than your belt.” And the surprise he had tucked in his pocket. “You don’t look quite like you in all this.” 

“Yeah, the red does clash with the hair a bit, eh?” He turned once, watching himself in the mirror they had set up in the parlour. He still felt like something was missing from the whole getup though.

“A little bit, I suppose.” Aziraphale’s breath caught as he saw their reflections together. Him shorter and far rounder, all creams and beiges and faded oranges with the occasional patch of coloured or patterned fabric scattered about. Crowley tall and slender and like a flame, lively and wonderful and capable of burning Aziraphale to ash. He stepped out of the mirror’s frame, noticing a flap of white about Crowley’s wrist when his gaze fell. “Oh, your wrist. Let me fix that.”

“Hm? Oh! Erm, it’sss nothing.” He snatched his wrist up and held it close to his chest. “Nothin’ to worry about,” Crowley said, trying to tuck the wayward feather back into his sleeve. 

Aziraphale cupped his elbow without thinking about it. “Oh, you ridiculous thing. Is that one of my feathers again?”

Crowley blushed as red as his hair and suit, but shrugged. “Might be,” he mumbled petulantly.

“For Halloween’s sake, Crowley, you can’t just-”

“Oi, Crowley!” someone shouted, Aziraphale going still instead of backing away when the hissing doorbell followed. He hadn’t seen hide nor scale nor hair of Satan’s demonic foursome over the last month, and very much didn’t want to now.

Crowley scowled. They were late. _Very_ late. He’d actually started to hope Sandy Claws might have taken care of them. “Sorry, angel,” he said and stepped away reluctantly to march outside.

The sack this time was massive. The sides bulging over the edges of their little wagon, putrid water leaking down the sides.. “Now that looks more like it. Open it up.”

“I thought he waz going to give uz more trouble,” Beelzebub mused, zir bored tone almost containing some petulence. 

“He’s just big,” Hastur complained. 

“And heavy,” Dagon added with a sharp sneer.

When Ligur loosened the tie, a rotund man in red burst out of the sack and gulped for air, pushing a red and white cap off his eyes. “Let me out!”

Crowley hummed thoughtfully, cocking his head to the side. This definitely looked like the right being, spitting image of the pictures in the children's books. He’d been hoping it was a saccharine artistic licence, but apparently not. He had _hands_. No claws at all. “‘Fraid that won’t be happening. Terribly sorry about the inconvenience.” He plucked the hat right off of Sandy Claws’s cherry red face. “Ah! That’s exactly what I was missing, much obliged.”

Santa gasped, reaching up. “What- I- You can’t just-”

“Shut it,” Hastur growled.

Ligur looked towards Crowley to jeer in kind, but paused. “What’s the Angels’ fancy toy doin’ here?”

He froze, only for a second, and refused to turn around. Crowley had to remind himself it was _fine_ for Aziraphale to be seen in his house. He had a deal with the Angels. “I don’t believe the services I procure are any of your concern, Ligur. Now! As we agreed, Sandy Claws here shall become your guest. I expect you to give him Halloween Town’s best.”

“There must be some mistake,” Santa protested.

He wasn’t the only one confused. “Crowley,” Aziraphale hesitantly wondered from the doorway, “what are you doing?”

Crowley half turned towards Aziraphale to throw a charming grin at him, too caught up in what he felt to be his triumph to notice the concern in both expression and tone. “I’m doing Christmas, of course!” He turned back to Sandy Claws. “Now, don’t you worry. Christmas is in good hands this year. Think of it as an... exotic vacation!”

“A vacation?! On Christmas Eve? But the-” Whatever may have followed disappeared, muffled as he was tied back into the sack. 

Aziraphale stepped closer to Crowley, mind racing. He didn’t need to kidnap Santa Claus to have Christmas in Halloween Town. He’d missed something very important, the oft-ignored premonition coming back full force. “Crowley, you mustn’t-”

“You tellin’ the _Pumpkin King_ what to do?” Ligur wondered, mocking both Aziraphale and the title. “You need your voicebox ripped out again, fluffy?”

Aziraphale swallowed, hands lifting to nervously adjust his bowtie. That had not been a fun patch job.

Crowley rounded on Ligur. “I believe the _Pumpkin King_ can take care of himssself. Or need I remind you ssssnakes eat chameleonsss?” He hissed, baring his fangs and scales rippling along his neck and the sides of his face. “Your job here is done.” He was going to find out what that _again_ meant later and possibly rip out a voicebox of his own in the process.

Torn between defying all of them and marching right up to get Santa out of that wagon or doing what was expected of him, Aziraphale seized up and stayed quiet and let that squeaky-wheeled contraption get further and further away. Oh, dear. Oh, no. Oh, _bugger_. 

“Come on, angel. The show’s about to start,” Crowley said, turning around and offering his hand. His grin faded at the deep worry wrinkling the fabric between Aziraphale’s eyebrows. Whatever it was Ligur had been referring to must have really shaken him up. “Hey, s’alright. They won’t be there tonight, and I doubt the Angels will be either.”

“Tonight?” he echoed, voice cracking. He wanted to take Crowley’s hand, but couldn’t. He twisted his ring helplessly, worry tugging at every single stitch. “Crowley, what- what _exactly_ is happening tonight?”

Crowley laughed. “Angel, you read the books. You know how it goes. Sandy,” he motioned up and down himself, “gets in the sleigh and delivers toys and coal to the human kids. Then in the morning, they all wake up and open ‘em. Listen, I can see you're nervous about what just happened. Ligur and all. If you're still worried about being seen together now that the suit is done, I can go on ahead and start getting set up.”

Yes, Aziraphale was exceptionally nervous about what had just happened because, yes, he had read the books. Hadn’t Crowley paid _any_ attention to the endings? The person who tried to alter or ruin Christmas _changed_. Scrooge had given up his miserly ways, the Grinch’s heart had grown three sizes, Rudolph didn’t get revenge - Aziraphale didn’t want Crowley to change. He wanted him exactly how he was - wicked and wily and wonderful. 

There had to be a way to stop this. Santa always seemed to get out of trouble and save Christmas. All Aziraphale had to do was buy some time and then... Well, then he’d scold Crowley for being an utter fool and everything would be okay again. 

“Yes. I- Jolly good. Tip-top idea. You go ahead then.”

He really didn’t want to start without Aziraphale, but it was obvious he was quite shaken up. He’d make sure to feed Ligur, and maybe Hastur too just for being disgusting, to the lake monster after all this was done. A nice Christmas present to himself. “Alright. Don’t take too long.” He resisted the desire to go over and kiss his cheek; there would be time for that later when Aziraphale swooned into his arms after seeing him do this Christmas thing himself.

Crowley sauntered into the town, excitement so thick in the air he could taste it. Citizens were running back and forth carrying piles of terribly wrapped boxes and lumpy packages. Most of them called out to him, waving and smiling, but Crowley barely paid them any mind.

Something felt… off. Perhaps it was because this was the first time in around a month he’d had to leave Aziraphale behind. It made a cold weight settle in his gut. He’d gotten so used to Aziraphale being _right there_ at his side, he’d almost forgotten what it was like without him. Without Aziraphale it was cold and miserable, and no amount of “Christmas cheer” was going to fill in the place in his heart where his dearest friend resided.

He only marginally felt better when he saw the sleigh, having given The Them the electric vehicle he’d gotten from Christmas Town to be repurposed. Eight hodgepodge skeletons made from whatever bones the kids had managed to dig up were attached to it and Wensleydale had a stack of soggy paper he was making marks on while Adam and Pepper ran around and double checked the reindeer were attached properly.

“Pretty impressive, kids. But will it fly?”

Wensleydale shoved his broken glasses up his nose. “We gave it a test run in the Infernal Woods yesterday, actually, and it just flew fine. Though Brian almost wrapped us around a tree.”

Crowley winced. A disaster like that and this whole scheme would have been a complete waste. “And where is the little slime monster?”

“He’s finishing drawing the runway,” Adam called from the other side of the sleigh. “We won’t let him touch the sleigh again.”

“Yeah, he’s mad but you’re scarier when you're mad.”

Pepper poked her head up from the back. “Crowley’s not _that_ scary,” she said. “Doesn’t scare me.”

Crowley bared his fangs. “I could scare you right now if I wanted to.”

She looked prepared to argue the point but more and more Halloween Town denizens were showing up, stacking their gifts into the sleigh and crowding around, excited to see their first Christmas in action.

He didn’t see Aziraphale among them, and Crowley hoped he wouldn’t miss it. All his hopes were riding on this one grand gesture. Without Aziraphale there wasn’t even a point to any of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Syl  
> I like to think that if the cupid had actually hit Crowley, it wouldn't have done a damn thing b/c he's already too far gone
> 
> -
> 
> Find us on tumblr at [SylWritesStuff](https://sylwritesstuff.tumblr.com/) and [theladydrgn](https://theladydrgn.tumblr.com/)! 💖


	7. Chapter 7

He hated that he was going to hurt Crowley. 

He hated it. He’d never hurt anyone who mattered before, but it was for his own good. _Actually_ for his own good and not in the wretched condescending way the Angels told Aziraphale things were for his own good. Like dirtying freshly cleaned floors to build his character or burning his books to ash to keep him from wasting his time or asking Ligur to rip out his voicebox so he would learn to listen better.

No, no, this was entirely different. This was to keep Crowley himself. Crowley had been so excited and curious about Christmas from the start, but he’d agreed with him that it wasn’t _perfect_. Over the month, he’d agreed with Aziraphale that Halloween Town did Christmas _better_ than Christmas Town. But it was _their_ better. It was not _Christmas_ better and, according to the books and the songs, Christmas ruled Christmas. Playing at it was fine and safe when it was just in their little town, when it was just a lark. But to involve Satan? To kidnap Santa? To try and steal the real thing?

It couldn’t end well.

And it wasn’t only selfish, something which gave Aziraphale some comfort as he scurried home. The whole town would lose their Pumpkin King. The Them would lose a mentor and friend. Gabriel would likely run roughshod all over their holiday and try to categorize and organize fears. Make it all - ugh - _corporate_.

Aziraphale couldn’t allow that to happen. In his opinion, he was saving their entire way of life. Yes. Completely unselfish.

As he slunk into the manor through one of his secret entrances, he couldn’t quite deny the fact that it was, maybe, a touch selfish. He loved Crowley, and he didn’t want to lose him. Was that such a terrible thing to be selfish over?

Was it _him_ who would be shattered by night’s end?

Aziraphale silently padded his way across the dirty floors. It had built up in his absence, the cobwebs growing larger than regulation size, and when he crept into Michael’s potion supply room, he could see the bottles had become organized by how often they needed them and not by size and function. Gosh, the Angels were descending into chaos without him. Gabriel was likely furious.

He did a bit of digging and, near the back, was a bottle labeled Fog Juice. It was exactly what he needed. Aziraphale had seen Wensleydale’s reindeer diagrams, and there wasn’t a Rudolph among them. Fog had stopped real Santa without that glowing nose, and it would stop Crowley too.

One day, he hoped, Crowley would forgive him for this.

The town square was full of revelers. It reminded Aziraphale so much of Halloween, causing a sharp ache in his belly. So much so that he checked to make sure he hadn’t accidentally gotten impaled by something. He’d run clear through a branch in the woods once, the first time Crowley had ever seen him have to patch himself up and a humiliating memory that made him smile a little now. 

It cracked and faded soon enough and he continued on, all the pain in his own mind. He crept about, as unnoticed as he ever was, towards the fountain. Crowley had sprung out of this on Halloween, his golden eyes glowing through the darkness and his serpent form spectacularly spilling over the edges. Surely, future performances mattered more to him than this Christmas farce.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and yanked the cork out of the fog juice bottle, tipping it over and pouring the contents into the liquid. Almost immediately, a thick fog began to spill from the fountain and fill the air. He poured in every drop, then dumped the jug into it entirely. Confusion began to overtake the excitement as the fog coated everything, and even Aziraphale had a hard time finding exactly where the townsfolk were.

“Crowley?” he called, making his way towards the crowd of confused sounds. Perhaps he should’ve grabbed a torch as well as the fog juice, but that would’ve been a little difficult to explain. Eventually, he could see familiar gold almond shapes shining through the darkness as easily as they ever did and relief filled him. “Oh, Crowley!”

“Angel!” Relief flooded him at the sound of Aziraphale’s voice. He’d gotten worried when this thick fog had rolled in that he might get lost or end up falling into an open grave. “I’m glad you made it!” He reached for him, eventually finding a sturdy fabric arm to pull close. “There you are. Was started to get worried you might miss out, though it seems this fog’s going to delay things a bit.” He could hear Adam and Wenslydale arguing off to the side on how they might still proceed.

Aziraphale hadn't expected to be pulled, gasped as he stumbled into him. “I- No. That’s alright. The delay. It’s tickety-boo. Maybe you shouldn’t go.”

“What? I can’t just not go. I’m sure Adam and his friend will figure something out. They’ve even gotten Anathema looking up spells to disperse it. Should be ready to go in no time.” He was not going to disappoint Aziraphale. Not when he’d gotten so close.

He hadn’t thought of spells. Aziraphale’s hands found Crowley’s shoulders. “But- It- I don’t want you to do something too dangerous, my dear.”

Liquid warmth flooded Crowley’s limbs at the gentle touch, his hands automatically coming up to grip the waistcoat at Aziraphale’s sides. “Oh, angel, you don’t have to worry.” It was sweet how much Aziraphale was concerned about his well being. “What could possibly happen? It’s just a little flight and I’ll be home before you know it.”

“But it’s _more_ than that, Crowley.” He couldn’t even enjoy the chill of his touch, mind reeling as he sought a way to convince him to just stay. “You don’t have to do this. We can-”

Not all of Halloween Town thrived on the crisp coolness of autumn. The springs on the edges of the southern border bubbled dangerously hot. Few ventured in, fewer ventured back out again. The four demons pulled their wagon wheel along a bridge that creaked ominously under Sandy’s weight and they stood there at the highest point, bickering over whether or not to start bouncing to see just how well this Sandy Claws could handle the heat or if they should just continue on and introduce him to their leader.

It took Beelzebub reminding them that they’d been gone several weeks to push them towards a manor eerily like the one the Angels dwelled at the Northern border. Coming back empty-handed would put the four of them in some serious danger, under the sorts of torture and death even the necromancers would have trouble bringing them back from. Not a way any of them wanted to go.

To them, their leader should’ve been the real Pumpkin King. He was leagues more terrifying than that weak-kneed serpent. Yes, the shapeshifting was kind of cool and Halloween had gotten more spooky with his stupid imagination, but Satan? He was the real terror in the night.

“Haven’t you heard of peace on earth and goodwill towards man?” Sandy demanded from his sack.

Hastur elbowed him. “Nope.”

“And we don’t want to neither,” Ligur added, still wondering what that giant doll had been doing at Crowley’s place. He’d seemed awfully concerned about this Sandy Claws fellow. Maybe he’d give Michael a ring, see what was happening.

But first they had to give their leader his gift. It was the only thing any of them remembered from Crowley’s presentation the evening after Halloween - the presents. The surprises that leapt out and terrified children. Not a bad gig.

“There’s been some mistake,” Sandy tried again when they untied him.

“No miztake,” Beelzebub assured him, enormous eyes nearly glowing and thing wings buzzing in excitement. “Puzh him.”

“Push- Oh!” he bellowed, the other three pushing him into the laundry shoot. “Please-”

“He’s too fat,” Hastur complained.

“If he can fit through a chimney, he can fit through here,” Dagon insisted, the three of them pushing as hard as they could until Sandy or his body gave in and he popped down and down and down, feeling uncomfortably like he was heading straight towards Hell itself.

The red-skinned, horned being that smiled at him through the bars of the cage he landed in did not remove that impression so much as reinforce it. “Sandy Claws, is it?” He smiled too wide for his face, teeth sharp points. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Crowley!” Wensleydale shouted, cutting Aziraphale off. “Crowley, come look! We figured it out, actually!”

“Hold that thought, angel. I’ll be right back.” Crowley gave his sides a quick squeeze, not wanting to part from finally having Aziraphale in his arms, but needed to know what the kids had found out.

He disappeared into the fog, so thick you could have put it in soup, and headed in Wesley's direction. They should have still been near the sleigh. “What ya got for me, kid?” He asked as he approached.

“Brian!” Adam announced triumphantly, gesturing to the ramp their messy friend had been cleaning. There were several glowing footprints, distinct even in the fog.

He stared, blinking at the slime that glowed like patches of fireflies in the dead of night, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Boys… and girl!” he added before Pepper could complain. “I think this might just work. I knew you could do it! Hurry and get as much of that as you can on the reindeer, I’ll help. They’ll be my guiding lights.”

The next few minutes was a flurry of activity as The Them gathered buckets of Brian's slime, that they’d spent weeks harvesting and experimenting on to make it glow, from their hideout. They'd been meant to get poured over decorations to really make their Christmas bright, but this worked just as well. 

Crowley upended the buckets on top of the skeletal reindeer, their bony bodies made from various peoples and animals. Each reindeer ended up its own brightly glowing colour, almost reminiscent of the strings of Christmas lights Crowley still had strung around his house. He had to agree with Aziraphale there - the lights were a very nice touch.

Once all the reindeer were glowing, their combined light cut through the nearby fog, illuminating the crowd that had gathered and waited. Crowley was disappointed to not see Aziraphale among them, but perhaps he’d gone to sit down? He reached into the back of the sleigh for Tracy’s usual megaphone. He’d given both her and Shadwell the night off, this Christmas thing mostly a one-man show and they had worked hard to make it happen. They deserved to be among the revelers. 

Crowley climbed onto the sleigh, on foot balanced on the front. “Alright everyone!” he called into the microphone, his voice amplified out to the crowd past where the glow beat back the fog. “Despite a short delay, Christmas will now commence!”

He tossed the microphone into the back as voices rose up in cheer. The warm, buzzing excitement of a holiday underway skittering across his skin. Similar, in a way, to his Halloween performances, but with the knowledge that at the end of it he’d have Aziraphale.

With a sharp snap of the reins, the skeletal creatures kicked their hooves and feet and the sleigh began to rise. “Steady! Steady, now,” Crowley said as it jerked in place and rose higher. “That’s right. Steady does it.”

He didn’t know how Wenslydale had done it, he’d need to remember he owed that kid something impressive later because as the sleigh rose above the town the cheers only rose with him.

“Right, then. Here goes nothing.” He snapped the reins again, the sharp crack echoing out across the town, and the sleigh lurched. Crowley thought it might just fall right out of the sky, but with little preamble the reindeer shot forward, taking Crowley and the sleigh with them.

Far below, Aziraphale craned his neck to see the colourful reindeer and their stupid, _stupid_ driver, but he couldn’t call out to him. He couldn't do anything but softly mumble, “Oh... Fuck.”

“Keep it moving, sunshine,” Gabriel snapped from behind him. 

Aziraphale stumbled forward, trying to look up and walk at the same time. He'd failed him. He should've told him about the premonition right away. He shouldn't have made him the suit. He shouldn't have encouraged Christmas. He should've spoken up against those demons taking Santa. 

Now, it was hopeless. There was nothing he could do. He and the town were going to lose Crowley forever, and it was all his fault. He'd been a coward. 

Beside him, Sandalphon sneered. “You'd better enjoy the sky while you have it. The tower's too good for you. We've discussed it, and you'll be living in the cellar from now on.”

There would be no escaping the cellar, a regular punishment for him. He'd have to wait every morning to be released, and he'd probably never be allowed to see Crowley again. Whatever became of him. Even if he became sugary sweet in every way, Aziraphale was sure he'd still want to visit. If Crowley still wanted him around, anyway. 

Aziraphale trudged along, the fog slowly fading the closer to the outskirts of town they got. He wished he'd grabbed something else. A sleep potion, maybe. Or mistletoe. He could've fed Crowley the berries and dragged him away. He hadn't been clever enough to properly save Christmas - or Halloween, by default - so... 

Santa could still save Christmas, Aziraphale recalled, and he knew exactly where he'd be. He could go there. He could figure out a way to rescue him. If he'd learned anything, it was that he wasn't as useless or as out of place as he'd been led to believe. The Angels were just using him. 

They'd always been using him. 

He owed them his existence, yes. But he... Aziraphale swallowed. He didn't owe them his _life_. He'd built that himself. He'd met and befriended Crowley all on his own, befriended the Pumpkin King before he'd even known what exactly that meant. He hadn't even known it's what Crowley _was_. He'd just been a being who'd stepped into the clearing Aziraphale had claimed for his own, distracting him from his sewing and looking at him as if he was someone interesting. 

He _was_ interesting. Anathema and Newt liked him. Tracy liked him. Shadwell, well, Old Shadwell rolled his eyes at him but Young Shadwell always seemed glad to greet him. 

And Crowley liked him. Even after a month living together, Crowley wasn't tired of him. 

Aziraphale stopped and took a breath. Inaction had only caused more trouble. It was time to change that. 

“Keep going, Aziraphale. We don't have time for your foolish-” 

“Gabriel, you never seem to have time for much of anything involving me. I'm terribly sorry, but this just isn't working out.”

“Isn't working out?” Uriel echoed, turning towards him. “Just what do you think this is?” 

“Enslavement, actually. Servants get paid, after all, and they get to leave now and again. They don't get boarded into towers or locked in cellars or... or tortured in ways they don't actually want. If anyone's going to be tying me to things and pulling at my stuffing, it certainly isn't going to be any of you.”

Michael turned around to eye him cooly. “And you think Crowley would want to do such things to you? Just how close have you been getting? Or were you already, and you were just-” 

“Lying to you?” Aziraphale clasped his hands together. “Yes, Michael, I've been lying. Crowley is my dearest friend. Whatever he wants with me, I'll take and have and cherish. The rest of you? Make a new slave. Good day.”

He pushed past Gabriel since he was the easiest to budge in his surprise, just barely avoiding being grabbed as he ran back into the fog. Their flames tried to burn it off, but Aziraphale could move soundlessly and knew every in and out of these streets. He'd snuck through them enough to dodge flames and weave through alleys as if he'd laid them himself. 

Crowley had said, again and again, that he was always welcome. He'd created a bedroom for him before he'd ever moved in. Aziraphale was and had been silly to think he didn't have a place to stay besides home. No, besides the estate. Crowley’s home had felt more like one than that drafty old mansion ever had. He had friends. He had a place. 

And he was never returning to the Angels again. 

He hurried South, towards an entirely different but wildly similar manor, and nearly laughed when he found a hidden door in exactly the same place. He still had a chance to rescue Crowley, and he was going to do it. 

First things first, though. He had to get through Satan. 

Taking a deep breath, he quickly made his way down the halls until he reached a barred and locked basement door. It took thirteen seconds and two sewing needles to make it to the stairs beyond, and he crept down as carefully as he could. The heat grew to an uncomfortable degree the further he went, but he didn't and couldn't let himself stop. He had to get to the basement, and then... 

Well, he wasn't entirely sure yet. But he'd do _something_ to save this silly, bright holiday. 

Aziraphale eventually reached the bottom of the stairs, able to hear Satan taunting Santa about the nearness of their names, about how he would probably try to take over the holiday himself the following year. “Show that blasted serpent how a _real_ king should be.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Someone else who hadn't read the stories, obviously. Though if anyone could use an extra size or two of heart growth, it was this particular being. 

He had Santa in a cage, suspended over a bubbling pool of magma. The underground volcano was the source of the hot springs' bubbling nature and the sweltering heat. If not for the humidity, Aziraphale would be wary of catching fire. 

His gaze followed the chain holding the cage, finding it attached to the wall. Perfect. “Alright, my dears, let's wander,” he murmured, and unlaced his hands. One plucked the sewing needle from behind his ear and scurried across the floor towards the chain, and the other scurried off towards a different set of chains to hopefully distract Satan. 

Aziraphale pressed himself to the wall to hide amidst the shadows, stubs dipping into his pockets. If he lost any feathers, he wanted to be able to give them to Crowley. It had been a bit since he'd added to his collection. 

His hands did their job, though, chains rattling loud enough to pull Satan's attention away and the other hand skittering along the one to Santa's cage. If Aziraphale could get him out from behind bars, maybe the Christmas Town leader could... What did he do? Touched the side of his nose and flew up chimneys? The laundry shoot could count as a chimney, surely. 

But Aziraphale wasn't the only being hiding in the shadows, his arms suddenly grabbed and Ligur's growl in his ear. “Lookit what we've got, Hastur. A doll to play with.”

Hastur let out a croaking laugh before pausing. “But we don't play with dolls.”

“Shut up.”

Crowley had a list, entirely in his head, of who he was going to thank when all this was over. At the very top, completely by happenstance, not intentional at all, was Aziraphale. The suit he’d made was doing its job perfectly, at least in the places where it covered. Crowley’d had to pull his hands into the sleeves and press the bunched fabric to his mouth to keep his hands and face from freezing off.

Christmas Town had been really damn cold, but no one had seen fit to warn him it was ten times as bad when hundreds of metres in the air and no people or buildings or lights from which to soak up ambient warmth. The stars were beautiful though. This high up he was above most cloud cover and smog, the tiny twinkling lights just that much closer. He still remembered the night he and Aziraphale had laid up on his roof and his friend had told him about how some stars were already dead, but still able to be seen for thousands of years afterward. Star ghosts, he’d called them. He'd probably love this, and he'd definitely be a source of warmth on the bench seat beside him. 

He blew another breath into his sleeves. “Alright, gang! Enough dillydallying. Take me down!” Crowley cracked the reins and the reindeer dove, hurtling through layers of thick clouds. He gritted his teeth against the biting wind and the not-quite-ice that was falling in fat chunks. The lights of a human city blinking and twinkling like a brighter mirror of the sky above the clouds.

Directing the sleigh with only small tugs and pulls, Crowley landed, with a few bumps, atop the nearest house. He scowled down at the white blanket of wet and cold that covered the roof, completely pristine except for where the reindeer and his sleigh made indentations. There wasn’t even smoke, black or otherwise, coming out of the chimney and not a single stocking to be seen.

The crunch underfoot when he hopped out of the sleigh was at least satisfying, as was the delight in drawing a quick squiggle in the horrible white powder. Perhaps he should take some home with him this time? It could prove useful when torturing the towns more cold-blooded denizens. That would have to wait till later, though.

Crowley trudged over to the suspiciously smoke-free chimney with a bag of wrapped gifts and lumps of coal slung over his shoulder. He glanced from the small dark space of the chimney and the bag. How big fat Sandy managed to squeeze himself inside was a mystery. Magic maybe? Powers of transformation? Crowley shrugged, wasn’t going to be his problem.

He slipped inside easily, thin and lanky as he was with joints that were only there theoretically, the small space giving him no issue. At least until he was tugged to a stop, left dangling inside by the sack's knotted opening. He blinked into the dark interior and gave the bag a yank. “Oh, come on.” It didn’t budge.

“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me.” He tugged twice more on the sack. It still refused to follow him down.

“Come oooon. Work with me here. This is the biggest moment of my life and you’re bloody well ruining it.” There was a moment of brief panic. If he couldn’t do this, if it fucked up, if it _failed_ , Aziraphale would be so disappointed. Had that been why Aziraphale had tried to talk him out of it? So he wouldn’t have to see him fail?

Crowley gritted his teeth and growled. _Absolutely the fuck not_. He was the bloody Pumpkin King - no - The King of Halloween. He was one thing standing between all the spooks and frights of Halloween and the mortal human world. And he was not about to let one stupid sack stop him from doing this Christmas thing _right_.

He braced his feet and elbows against the insides of the chimney and adjusted his grip on the sack. “Now you listen to me, you are going to slide down this chimney, I am going to deliver these presents, then we are going right back up it. Any more problems and I’ll shred you to ribbonsss.” And he pulled, one final time, with all the strength he could muster.

Whether because of his threats, the strength of which he pulled, or just because he’d wiggled it enough to finally come free, the sack did, indeed, come loose. Crowley let out a yelp as it landed on his head and shoved him the rest of the way down the chimney, landing in a puff of ash at the bottom.

Crowley coughed ash and glared up at the bag. “I’m still going to shred you.”

“Santa?”

He froze and slowly lowered his eyes to the room he’d ended up in. The only light came from the coloured ones wrapped around the needle tree in the corner. Christmas decorations strung up and weaved into its branches. A little tinkling tune was playing somewhere inside and upon a plush brown sofa sat a small girl wrapped in a baby-blue blanket, red curls poking out from where it was draped over her head.

“Er, yup! That’s me. Sandy.” He climbed out of the chimney, brushing the soot from his trousers. Aziraphale had made this suit and he’d be damned if let it get too dirty. When he glanced up again her head was cocked curiously.

“You don’t look like Santa.”

Crowley scowled at her. “What? You think there’s just one of us? Bloody well impossible to get the whole world with just one Santa, innit?”

The little girls eyebrows rose and her mouth fell into a soft ‘o.’ “Never thought of that before.”

“Course not. That’s why I’m Sandy and you just get the gifts.”

Her surprised look quickly spread into a grin and she crawled across the sofa towards him, her caution completely abandoned. “Did you bring the dolly I asked for?”

“Er.” He recalled, vaguely, Aziraphale mentioning something about the kids sending in letters asking for specific things. “Yup. Definitely.” He set the sack down and rummaged through it, trying to remember which colour pattern he’d designated for ‘doll.’ Eventually he pulled out a green and white striped box that was only slightly crushed. “Here it is!” He was fairly sure green and white was supposed to mean ‘doll shaped.’

She frowned at the box as he passed it to her. “It’s all smushed.”

He clicked his tongue at her. “Yeah, well, lots of naughty kids this year. Gave us more work to do.”

There was a moment where she seemed to think this over, then nodded sagely as if that made all sorts of sense.

“Right. Well. Lots more to deliver. Best be off.”

She bobbed her head eagerly at that, holding the slightly damaged present close to her chest. “Wanna use the front door? Sounded like you had trouble with the chimney.”

Crowley grinned, fangs gleaming in the low light. “Yesss.”

The large majority of the deliveries were not nearly as interesting. Most kids were fast asleep in their own beds or easy to sneak round even if they were nearby. He was still wondering how Sandy decided who got coal and who got boring gifts. After a long debate one night, Aziraphale had eventually concluded it was supposed to be a threat to keep children from misbehaving during the year, which Crowley didn’t quite understand. The misbehaving was the best part! After a few houses and not leaving a single piece of coal, he decided to leave at least a little bit at every house. The coal was honestly the better deal, in his opinion, and it didn’t seem sporting to not at least encourage a little bit of fire related chaos.

The few kids he did stumble upon who were wide awake were eager to talk to him. Most took his explanation for why he ‘didn’t look like Sandy’ at face value and didn’t bother with many follow-up questions. Except for one, very notable, exception.

“That’s stupid.”

Crowley scowled up at the dark-haired boy standing at the top of the stairs with his arms crossed and wearing a set of dark green silk pyjamas. “It’s not.”

“It is,” the boy insisted. “Santa’s magic. He doesn’t need fakes to do his job for him.”

“And how would you know that, eh?”

The boy rolled his eyes dramatically. “Everyone knows that, duh. And besides, you have snake eyes. Probably some weirdo who’s possessed by a demon or something.”

Crowley would have been impressed with the kid’s audacity were he not on a tight schedule. “That’s- Does it matter? I have presents. Do you want one or not?” Arguing with him was obviously going to be a huge waste of time.

He rolled his eyes again and leaned a hip against the banister. “Guess so. Not like you’re gonna give me anything my parents haven’t already. What is it? The latest Xbox 900? A telescope? Got all that already.”

Crowley flashed his fangs. He liked this kid. Reminded him of Adam in the early days. “Nah, got somethin’ much better for you. How do you like fire?”

Turned out the little warlock liked fire quite a bit, his parents less so. Crowley was heedless of their opinions, as he was most of the destruction he left behind him. The flashing lights of emergency vehicles were just _more_ brightness in a sea of Christmas colour and the sirens and muffled screams were better than the tinkling music he heard in nearly every house he broke into. The chimneys had long since lost their luster, so there were broken locks and a few smashed windows left in his wake as well. 

It was sounding a little bit like Halloween the longer he went, actually, which hadn't been the intention but it was better. Aziraphale had spent the entire month telling Crowley their Halloween Town version of Christmas was looking more and more exciting, so things were working out well. 

It was exhausting and he genuinely never wanted to do it again, but it was going alright. He'd successfully given Aziraphale all the joy and cheer he'd wanted, and he'd surely forget about going back to the Angels. He didn't _need_ to go back to them. Even if the worst case scenario happened and Aziraphale _didn't_ swoon into his arms after all this, hopefully he'd seen enough of the town that he wouldn't want to go back. He wouldn't let them drag him back to that stupid manor. He didn't deserve to be under their thumb. He was too good not to have freedom. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a flare of very welcome heat. It wasn't just the work that was tiring, the constant chill seeping into his skin with the brief pauses inside houses hardly warming him enough. Why didn't anyone have fires in their chimneys for Sandy to go through? 

Another flare of heat zinged by, close enough to nearly burn, and it exploded higher in the sky. Missiles? What would-

Another screamed through the air, rattling Crowley's vehicle-turned-sleigh and panicking the skeletal reindeer. He cracked his whip to make them go higher, but one of them was blasted to glowing bits and the others tried to fly in different directions. The yank of the harnesses from beings strong enough to lift a bloody sleigh, snapped two reindeer free and rattled Crowley violently. 

“Oi! Now’s not that time for this shit!” He snarled and yanked the reigns harder in an attempt to get them back under control. Unfortunately the sleigh wobbled precariously and tilted far to the side.

“Fuckfuckfuck-! Come on!” Another missile whizzed by and exploded, much closer this time. It was like the bloody flying baby all over again but worse. “ _Oi_! Stop that down there!” he yelled over the side only to watch as another missile was headed right for him.

Crowley tugged the mostly useless reins, it sent the reindeer in the exact opposite direction he’d intended, but the missile still missed him. Coming almost close enough to touch, though.

He needed to get out of here. Something must have Gone Wrong, maybe, or did Sandy Claws have to deal with this too? He couldn’t remember enough of the stories right now to know for sure, but if he could just direct the reindeer high enough they could hide above the clouds. He wasn’t sure what he’d do after that, Christmas was hardly done, but he just needed a second to think without missiles trying to shoot him down.

“Don’t you _dare_ let me down now you piles of bones! Higher! Go higher!” He went to crack the reins again when another blast rocked the sleigh, making Crowley have to cover his eyes to protect them from the flash of light. When he opened them again the final three reindeer were cracked and struggling, the sleigh and everything in it slowly losing altitude.

No! Nonono! This couldn’t happen. Couldn't _be_ happening. How was he supposed to finish delivering everything if he didn’t have enough reindeer to fly the damned sleigh? Crowley made another attempt at getting it under control, surely he didn’t need _all_ of them. Right?

What little hope he had left of salvaging the situation died when a final missile finally hit its mark.

The sleigh blasted apart, bits of wood and charred presents flying through the air. The sensation of falling, of plummeting through cold winter air might have almost been peaceful were Crowley conscious for it.

In Halloween Town, gazing into the fountain's enchanted depths, townsfolk watched Crowley fall and fall and fall. The Them, shoulder to shoulder, grappled at the stone and watched with wide eyes. 

“That... Actually, that's not...”

“He can't be dead,” Adam said firmly. “Not permanent-like. He's the Pumpkin King.”

“He got hit by a missile,” Pepper responded shortly, an unhappy howl lurking in the back of her throat. She swallowed it down stubbornly. 

Brian shook his head. “Yeah, but... But...”

The vision rippled, wavered, broke apart entirely and the adult beings began splitting away. There were mumbles and grumbles, confused questions, and a sort of hollow forlornness rarely seen in Town. Whatever the Angels had made Aziraphale believe by separation and repetition, it didn't take a holiday to inject cheer and joy in the wickedness they created. Halloween Town loved its darkness year-round, and this Christmas takeover had just been intended as another extension of that. 

Just a lark. 

Tracy herded the Them to a stunned Anathema and contemplative Newt, smile strained whilst Old Shadwell started a shouting match with R.P. over whether the plan had ever had any sense to begin with. “Here we are, luvs. Be a dear and take care of these four.”

“Sure. But Tracy...”

“It's a mayor's job to spread the word. I'll just get Shadwell bundled up before R.P. tries to bite his head off again, and we'll off.”

“That's fine,” Newt agreed, “but has anyone seen Aziraphale?” 

The kids scattered before anyone could stop them to find out just that, but Tracy had to get to the mayor and their vehicle before things in town got worse. It took a few sweet words and some very careful disentangling, but she managed to pry Shadwell free with his head still attached and bundled him in the car with the microphone in his grasp.

Young Shadwell couldn't get the words out, so Old bellowed whilst Tracy drove. “Wretched news,” he called, voice echoing through the speakers attached around the car. It would carry for miles, the perfect irritation tool during election season. “Crowley's been blown ter bits. The King o' Halloween's a pile o' ash an' char.”

He repeated it and variants of it as they drove, hammering it home for everyone so they could accept it. Passing through to the human realm wasn't something just anyone could do, especially when it wasn't Halloween. The veil was thicker than the fog some prankster had flooded the town with earlier that night. No necromancer would be able to go save the serpent, if there was anything left to save. He'd be stuck, his body left to shrivel and turn to dust in that place he didn't belong. 

Everyone in town knew it, even a rather sheltered patchwork being currently suspended on a rickety bridge by a chameleon and a frog. “Honestly,” he sighed, sounding more put-out than terrified, “you can't kill me. There's no point in it. Water's just so uncomfortable.”

“This'll be a smidge more than _uncomfortable_ ,” Ligur snarled. 

“Oh, yes, I'm sure for you. And it's quite hot, I see that.” He could feel it. “But I'll be able to walk out without issue. I've _told_ you. Besides, once Crowley hears about this, he'll be cross with you. I'm sure of it.” Just so long as he wasn't too changed by all the Christmas follies. “He's my _friend_ ,” he announced, a bit cross himself. 

Hastur grunted. “Only someone as soft as 'im'd have _friends_.”

He was rather soft, wasn't he? Soft and sweet and kinder than Aziraphale thought Crowley would ever want to hear. He sighed. “I suppose you'd be happier if you were capable of making friends, but that may require having better conversational skills than a broken fence post.”

“Right. Dump 'im in,” Ligur huffed. 

“I would really rather-” 

Shadwell's voice reached them from the road nearby, “Crowley, our Halloween serpent, has been shot down from th' sky!” 

Aziraphale froze, inside and out. Shot... _Shot down?_

“The King o' Halloween has met 'is gruesome end!” 

_No._

Ligur chuckled. “What about Crowley being cross with us? Fink he has to survive this Christmas shite to manage that.”

No one ever died in Christmas stories. That was the whole point. They all ended _happily_. He'd take him changed over being gone entirely. A cheerful not-Halloween serpent would be a thousand times better than no serpent at all. Aziraphale shook his head, unable to find the words to dispute him. “Crowley...”

“Cry about it if you manage to come back up,” Hastur snarled and they dropped Aziraphale over the edge of the bridge. 

Crowley woke with a gasp and a splitting headache in the wet and the cold. Pieces of burning wood and chips of bone littered around him. His red Sandy Claws suit torn to tatters and hanging loosely. A violent shiver wracked his spine with the suit no longer together enough to keep in any heat and his clothes beneath not built for winter weather.

He laid there in the not-quite ice, staring at what little remained of the sleigh as his vision blurred. The testament to his failure the only thing he could focus on. A proper failure this time. No simple sack stuck in a chimney. There was no coming back from this, it was over. Even the wailing sirens in the distance were of no comfort.

Aziraphale would be _devastated_ , he was sure. He’d ruined Christmas. It was quite clear now. Obviously the humans hadn’t been pleased with his peoples' changes. Perhaps Aziraphale hadn’t been either? Had he foreseen it wouldn’t go right and that's why he'd told him to stay? They’d made Christmas theirs, done so many changes, changes Crowley thought made it much better - that Aziraphale had said made it better, even - but it wasn’t ‘Christmas’ Christmas.

Confused, terribly disappointed, he let the tears fall that he’d been trying to hold back. Aziraphale was certain to be very cross, might not even speak to him again with how much he’d ruined something he liked. And now that he knew what freedom from the Angels was like, he didn’t _need_ Crowley anymore. He could go live in Christmas Town and not have to worry about Crowley ruining it anymore.

A sob crawled its way up his throat. He didn’t want Aziraphale to leave Halloween Town. He’d even take the way things used to be, with Aziraphale still living in that wretched manor and only visiting occasionally over never seeing him again. It would hurt, not in a good way, and be lonely again but he’d still have his friend. His best friend. Only friend, really, if he was being honest about it.

He slowly pushed himself to his knees, shaking from the cold and from the tears he didn’t really want to let fall but was powerless to stop anyway. He knew now that Christmas was not something he could do. As much as Aziraphale might love it, he just wasn’t built for it. Born and shaped by Halloween, Christmas was obviously something he was not meant for. And if that meant he was also not meant for Aziraphale, well... as much as the point had been to convince him that Crowley was someone to fall in love with, it had also been meant to make him happy.

Was there a way he could still do that? Salvage the remains of Aziraphale’s opinion of him? Pick up the pieces of a ruined Christmas? No, he shouldn’t touch Christmas. Already ruined it enough. But maybe…

He wiped the tears with icy hands, sniffing. He couldn’t save it, shouldn’t save it. But he could think of someone who might. Someone currently in the clutches of a very old rival. He just had to act fast.

Stumbling to his feet, Crowley finally took a look around where he’d landed. It was a familiar sight, surprisingly enough. Though he was used to gravestones being more cracked and broken than whole and clean. He trudged through the cemetery, sneering at the various fresh flowers, especially the fake plastic ones, and searching for an entrance while he shuck the ruined remains of the Sandy Claws suit. As king and master of Halloween, coming and going from his domain was not all that difficult, it just required the right aesthetic.

He grinned at the stone mausoleum towering above the much smaller gravestones, the humans' interpretation of an angel that Aziraphale had been modeled after, hands folded and head bowed, watching over the entrance. 

“Don’t worry, angel,” he whispered, throat still tight. “I’ll do it right this time.”

Crowley pressed his hands to the door, reaching within himself for the mantle of his power. With only a small push - _shit_. A small pull, the doors flung open, autumn leaves blowing from the wind that howled and screamed inside, revealing stone stairs wreathed in cobwebs. Crowley disappeared within, the doors snapping closed behind him and the darkness welcoming him in its embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Syl  
> Aziraphale gets his "Oh fuck" moment! And then gets tossed off a bridge. Welp.
> 
> ladydragona  
> Aaaand we're on the home stretch yall! Only one chapter left ;D  
> -
> 
> Find us on tumblr at [SylWritesStuff](https://sylwritesstuff.tumblr.com/) and [theladydrgn](https://theladydrgn.tumblr.com/)! 💖


	8. Chapter 8

There wasn't a splash. 

Ligur and Hastur stopped walking towards the manor when they realized this and doubled back to where they'd hauled the ragdoll up and over the edge to drop him into the deepest, hottest part of the springs. Virtually unsurvivable, them. 

But even an overgrown pillow should've made a _splash_. “What the-” They looked, but saw nothing but the bubbling, boiling water below. No sign of even a _hint_ of creams or beige.

“Where’d that soft idiot get to?” Hastur wondered.

“Dunno, but we’ll kill ‘im when we find ‘im.”

Crowley had heard and seen enough, honestly, and it wasn’t like anyone who mattered was going to miss either of them. “Hey, guysss,” he said and with a shove he sent Ligur spiraling into bubbling depths. Watching Hastur from the corner of his eye. “Ssssoft, eh? Don’t see what’sss so bad about that.”

Hastur looked down to see Ligur melting away in the boiling depths, then snapped his gaze back to the serpent. Half-serpent, only half of his form human at present. His shirt and jacket didn’t end at legs, but scales that coiled right off the edge of the bridge. “He hadn't done nothin' to you!” Hastur shouted.

“Me? Noooo.” Crowley shifted to look at Hastur straight on. “But he damaged ssssomeone I care very much about.” It was quick, much too quick for anyone with untrained eye. Crowley suddenly had clawed hands wrapped around Hastur’s neck. “And you, jussst now, tried to hurt Azssssiraphale. Very bad idea on your part.”

He dropped Hastur over the edge to join his companion. Watching in satisfaction as he fell and screamed before landing with that splash he and Ligur had been missing. “Alright, angel?” Crowley asked as he shifted his coils to pull his friend onto the bridge.

“I...” He wasn't entirely sure, still reeling from the whiplash of Crowley supposedly being dead to being caught in smooth scales rather than boiling waters. “I haven't seen this form before,” his mouth decided to say. 

Crowley looked down at himself, as if he’d didn’t know what he looked like. It was true Aziraphale hadn’t seen _this_ form but it wasn’t all that different, he didn’t think. Where hips and legs normally were, thick strong coils began below a humanoid torso.

He crossed his arms. “Don’t like it?”

“I didn't say that,” Aziraphale quickly replied, his still very not attached hands leaping from his pockets to land on the smooth scales. “I'll get used to it.”

 _Get used to it_. He hoped, desperately, that meant Aziraphale planned on staying in Halloween Town. Well, he needed to save Sandy Claws so he could save Christmas before he could even think about that. “Right. Good. I, er, I need to- I gotta go.” Eyes flicking from Aziraphale to the manor and back.

Aziraphale blinked at him. He couldn't just _go_. The Christmas curse hadn't afflicted him after all. He was still himself if he was throwing people off bridges. Wasn't he? “To save...? To save Santa? Right, yes. I'm obviously going with you.”

“Go- Going with-” He should have known Aziraphale would want to make sure he did it right, didn’t screw up again. “Right. Obviously.” It only took a moment of concentration to shift his lower half from snake to legs. “Course. Let’s go then.”

Aziraphale ignored the fact that his hands were on Crowley’s thighs. Treacherous things. “Good, yes. I'm... Crowley, I'm so glad you're alright. And I'm sorry. I did try to rescue him on my own, but I... Well, you saw how well that turned out.”

Crowley wanted to comfort him, pull him into his arms and tell him it was alright. Tell him he didn’t have to try and fix the mess Crowley himself had made. It was also incredibly distracting to have Aziraphale’s hands on his legs quite so blatantly. He hadn’t realised they weren’t attached when he shifted. He scooped them up and set one on each shoulder, easier to walk without having the softest, warmest, hands he’d ever felt squeezing his legs. “S’alright. Gonna fix it. Just stay close.”

“That's certainly the plan.” Aziraphale gave his hands a stern look he already knew was likely to be ignored. He was too relieved that he was there and whole. “I know how to get in, so we won't be noticed. Let's go, my dear. The sooner this is all taken care of, the sooner we can go home. Satan had the poor man in a cage.”

“Right, yeah,” Crowley said, trying to ignore the way one of Aziraphale’s thumbs was rubbing at his neck. “Better’n my plan. Was just gonna kick the door in.” He hoped ‘home’ meant _his_ home and not the Angels manor and certainly not Christmas Town.

“Of course you were, silly thing. This way now.” Aziraphale looped an arm around one of Crowley’s to guide him along to the side of the manor. He was alive, but something still didn't seem quite right with him. It was probably best to stay close just in case. “It's built like the Angels’ estate, so I know the ins and outs rather well.”

“Well, thank the full moon for that,” Crowley mumbled, blown away by the combined possessive grip Aziraphale hands had on his shoulders and the arm tugging him through dark passageways and down rickety stairs. He couldn’t tell if it was because Aziraphale was determined to make him fix the mess he made or because, as he said, he was happy he was okay. Regardless of the reason, Crowley was determined to commit this to memory and soak in it as much as possible.

The farther they descended, the hotter it got. Crowley was secretly jealous ol’ Lucifer had claimed the underground volcano as his, he didn’t even _need_ the heat. What was he even doing with it anyway? Hardly anyone ever got melted by magma; it was a complete waste.

He pulled Aziraphale to a stop just before they reached the bottom, cackles and a singular voice rising from below and bouncing up the stairwell. “Angel, hold up a tick.”

“What is it, dearest?” 

_Dearest_. Aziraphale still thought he was _dearest_. Fuck, he was going to melt into a puddle, and not from the heat. That had to mean something, _it had to_. “Listen, I want you to stay out of this as much as you can. Let me worry about Satan. You get ol’ Sandy out of that cage.” He scooped up the hands from his shoulders, one he had to tug loose because it refused to let go. “Gonna need these, I think.”

Aziraphale nodded, shooing his hands away. “To the cage now. Let's try this again, I suppose.” He looked up at Crowley as they scampered across the floor. “You'll be careful, won't you? Shadwell said something about you being blown out of the sky, and I don't want... As much as I adore your curiosity, there should be a reasonable limit.”

“You don’t have to worry, angel. Satan and I are old rivals - I know all his tricks. Nothin’ for me to get curious about down here.” But Aziraphale said he adored him - or, something about him anyway. “Tell ya about the blown up bit when we get Sandy outta here.”

“Yes. We clearly need to have a chat. And don't look so nervous about it. I... Oh.” Aziraphale bobbed up and touched their lips together. Too quick and light to be called a proper kiss, but he hoped it was clear enough anyway. “Mind how you go,” he wished and turned to make his quick, soundless way across the floor to get Santa free and stay out of Satan's notice. 

Crowley stared after him, stunned, lips still tingling. Aziraphale had- Aziraphale had-

Oh.

 _Oh_.

He pressed fingers to the lingering warmth and found that he didn’t care whatever Aziraphale wanted to ‘have a chat’ about as long as that happened again. Preferably often.

Crowley gave himself a quick shake. _Focus, focus_. He had to keep Satan occupied and let Aziraphale save Sandy first. He could think about all the ways he wanted to kiss Aziraphale later.

And with significantly more gusto, Crowley inched his way into the volcanic chamber. Craters of magma popping and spewing noxious fumes and heat. Various cages were scattered around, some hanging from the cavernous ceiling, others littering the far sides, and even a few half dissolved in liquid rock. There were a few other old-timey torture devices: an iron maiden, a rack, thumbscrews and spiked collars hanging from hooks. It was all very scary, certainly a place no mortal being would want to be, but it was also very… typical. It was no wonder Lucifer-call-me-Satan hadn’t taken the title from him. There was no originality here at all.

Crowley had to grin to himself at the sight of Aziraphale slinking behind a pile of cages while their enemy’s back was turned and focused on gloating at a caged Sandy Claws, held suspended over a table of handheld torturous implements. The grin grew when he noticed another table with straps, apparently recently prepared and pulled out, was tilted towards him.

Aziraphale noticed it and Crowley’s grin, shaking his head at him. Ridiculous creature. One of his hands jumped and landed right on one of Satan’s horns, and it was rather satisfying for a first scare. Aziraphale smothered a giggle, watching him try to grab at the hand jumping horn to horn, just barely avoiding being caught.

Crowley slid into place and gave what witty one-liner he was going to use a quick thought, it didn’t need to be extravagant, just good enough to get a few laughs in a retelling. He peeked out over the edge of the table and snickered quietly at the sight of the big red behemoth stumbling around and snatching uselessly at Aziraphale’s bouncing hand.

He had to duck back down as Satan stumbled near, apparently intending on using one of his many devices to do away with the bother atop his head.

The table tilted and Crowley grinned wide and toothy at his old rival. “Helloooo, Luci.”

Satan stilled, though it was hardly long enough to be noticeable. He arched a brow instead, scanning the decadent pose he’d decided to sprawl his limbs into. “Crowley? And here I thought you’d been - what did that bumbling idiot say? - blown to bits. Pity.”

“Mmm, yeah, didn’t stick, I’m afraid.” Crowley sat up and almost laughed at the hand that hopped from Satan’s horn to his shoulder. He gave it gentle caress from knuckle to wrist and back, knowing Aziraphale was going to feel it. “You and I have a matter to discuss.”

“Do we?” He eyed the hand with the barest hint of recognition. “I see Hastur and Ligur didn’t do their job properly. Fond of the little doll, are you?”

He knew Aziraphale was nearby, probably hearing every word, and he resisted the urge to look around and check, not wanting to give up their plan or draw attention to him. “Bit more than ‘fond.’ It was a mistake to have your goons hurt someone close to me.” He was not about to admit the depth of his feelings out loud to someone before he even told Aziraphale himself. “I would suggest making sure I'm actually gone before trying it again.”

Satan tsked, wagging a finger at him. “You know how I feel about trespassers, Crowley, and he was trying to take my-” He looked up at the cage, breaking off when he saw the second hand deftly popping the last of four locks. How the bloody- “Where is he?” Satan snarled, looking back down at Crowley. “You can’t just take Sandy back so soon. We’re just getting to know each other.”

Crowley grinned, definitely more than a little lovesick. “You know, and I’m actually being honest here, I have _no_ idea where he is. Sneakiest bastard I know.” He finally swung his legs off the table. “And that’s where you’re wrong. I, in fact, have a card called ‘Pumpkin King’ that says I can do what I want. And what I want is Sandy Claws. You can give him up easy, or we can do this the old-fashioned way, your choice.”

“Do you even know what the old-fashioned way is? You’re always playing your new games. No respect for the classics.”

“The classics are dull and overused. That’s why I’m the King and you're not.” Just as he’d suspected, ol’ Luci was still easy to keep talking. Prone to gloating and talking a big game without much actual follow through. At this rate Sandy would be free and out of here without him having to do much at all. “But you’re right. Barely even remember how it’s done, been so long since anyone’s been stupid enough to challenge me.” He ran his fingers up Aziraphale’s hand again, just because he could.

It made Aziraphale want to swat at him for being distracted _and_ distracting, but he clearly couldn’t. His hands had wanted to be held by that serpent for far too long to give up the chance by smacking him away. Though hearing him admit to being more than fond of him had been quite the indication that hand-holding may be a thing they’d be able to indulge in in the future. 

His other hand got the door open whilst Satan continued to snarl and snap at Crowley, his threats and tone spine-tingling in the way of an old film with visible wires. Crowley’s quips were more like a modern haunted house, in one’s face and thrilling. Aziraphale liked listening to them, and he liked being able to help in his way.

Except Santa wasn’t doing his nose touch thing, so that was rather concerning. He was watching the back-and-forth with some fascination instead. Or possibly irritation. It was difficult to tell from his angle. Aziraphale sighed quietly to himself and had his hand skitter into the cage to gesture and, when Santa looked down, Aziraphale briefly waved towards the open door and table before slipping his arms behind his back.

Thankfully, the leader of Christmas Town took that clear hint and made his way out. Aziraphale’s brows lifted at the soundless way he moved, though he wasn’t entirely surprised. He was as good at sneaking about as Aziraphale was, according to the stories. It wasn’t too unbelievable that Crowley would’ve gotten himself caught so much as to be shot down. He was certainly designed to kick doors in and announce his presence than he was to hide, shadow skulking not his forte.

Santa approached him cautiously, and Aziraphale offered him an apologetic smile as he scooped down to encourage his hand to come back to his wrist. “So sorry about this, dear fellow. I’m afraid we’ve rather made a mess of things.”

“Haven’t you just. You were on the porch. When _he_ ,” he jerked a thumb back towards Crowley, “stole my hat.”

“Ah.” That explained it. The tales of the magic in his hat were so inconsistent, Aziraphale hadn’t been certain of the truth behind them. “Yes. It... was a bit of a shock to see you, actually. I wasn’t aware how serious Crowley was taking his little Christmas game.”

“Christmas _game_?”

There was a skyward burst of magma behind them, and Aziraphale’s second hand skittered up so he could finally begin reattaching them. He could still see Crowley slithering his way around the dangerous spires as they sprang up, so didn’t panic as he stitched. “He’s... enthusiastic. He’ll be done with Satan soon, though, and we’ll get your hat returned so you can go off and, ah, save Christmas.” Aziraphale frowned at him. “You’re not going to... do something to try and, er, imbue Crowley with the spirit of Christmas or any such nonsense to teach him a lesson, are you? He’s fine just as he is.”

Santa looked from him to the magma pools, watched a man get replaced with an enormous snake who squeezed the devil hard enough to pop his eyes out. “No, I think it’s best that he stays in whatever ridiculous place this is.”

“Oh, good. And it’s Halloween Town.” Santa slanted him a look, and Aziraphale’s apologetic smile returned. “I don’t suppose I would care much about the town I was kidnapped into either, but I’ll have you know Christmas sounds like quite the ridiculous place as well. I read all the books, and they all have dreadfully happy endings.”

Crowley’s hiss vibrated the entire area and Aziraphale casually guided Santa back a step so they could avoid being crushed by a beam falling from the ceiling. Santa stared at the beam, then sighed. “I suppose that’s a sensible complaint for a place like this.”

“Mmhm. If you die, is it permanent?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t suffered that affliction yet.”

“Ah. My brain has, but I haven’t. As I don’t believe either of us wish to do so, perhaps we should wait on the stairs.”

“Lead the way.”

Aziraphale nodded, then called out, “Crowley! If you could stop playing about, darling, we really need to leave!”

Crowley hissed in delight at the new pet name, tightening his coils around the prone Lucifer. He was _darling_ now. He wasn’t quite sure what had prompted that, but he was not about to complain about it. “Well, Lucssi, ssseems your number hasss come up. It wassss fun, and I’ll ssssend a necromancssser over later, but don’t crosssss me in the future.”

He dropped the defeated Satan into a nearby magma pool, howls of rage devolving to screams of pain, then just irate gurgles. He could just leave him as a molten husk, but then something else might try to replace him in the power vacuum and Crowley liked knowing his enemies.

He was person shaped again when he found Aziraphale and Sandy Claws by the stairs up. Sandy looked very put out and was glaring at him, but Aziraphale looked like he usually did when Crowley handed him a new book. “Ready to get out of here, Sandy?”

“He has been, Crowley. You didn’t lose his hat when you were shot down, did you?”

“Huh? ...Oh! Nope!” Crowley reached into his black jacket and pulled out the hat, offering it to its owner. “Surprisingly enough, despite the suit being torn to bits, the hat didn’t even have a sooty smudge.”

Aziraphale sighed fondly. “Oh, my dear...”

Santa just snatched his hat up. “Bumpy sleigh ride?” He wagged a finger Crowley’s way, a lecture the extent of what he was willing to do with Christmas Eve ticking away. “The next time you get the urge to take over someone else’s holiday, I’d listen to _him_.” He gestured at Aziraphale. “He’s the only one who makes any sense around this insane asylum!” He pulled his hat down and started to march away, closer to a pipe Aziraphale assured him would take him outside. _Away_ from the hot springs.

Crowley pouted after him. They didn’t _have_ an insane asylum. Well, not anymore. The old Pumpkin King had, but it hadn’t been _scary_ , just sad. So Crowley had done away with it; there wasn’t anything frightening about people who just needed a little help.

“Well, that was a thing. What got into him?”

“ _You_ , you silly serpent.” They watched him press his finger to the side of his nose and disappear through a pipe no wider than a fist, and Aziraphale smiled. “There we are. Everything should be right as rain again.”

Crowley turned the pout onto Aziraphale, and then quite clearly remembered it was, in fact, his fault. He sighed and shuffled his feet. “Should probably get outta here, let the town know I’m not dead. ‘M sure _Gabriel’s_ already planning his hostile takeover.”

Aziraphale lifted his chin. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve left their employ.”

 _Oh_. Crowley stared and took a half step closer. “Yeah?” He asked, fingers skittering at his sides, unsure if he was allowed to reach out or not. It was all well and good to _tease_ when in the thick of things, but now that everything was done it had more meaning.

“Yes. They... Well, they came and stole me away before you'd taken off, and told me I was going to be permanently locked in the cellar. And I...” He twisted his ring around, dropping his gaze to it. “Well, it's been so wonderful _not_ being near them and they've told me so many lies about town. It's not at all what I thought it was, and I've had all these experiences because of you. And I had to help you, of course, so I... I told them we were friends, and I left. And I never want to go back to that wretched manor again.”

“ _Angel_ , you don’t ever have to go back if you don’t want to,” Crowley said softly, stepping close and lifting his fingers to graze Aziraphale elbows. “You’re welcome to stay with me as long you’d like.”

Aziraphale slowly lifted his gaze to meet Crowley’s. “I was hoping you'd say so. There's nowhere else I'd like to be.”

Crowley smiled sadly. He’d wanted Aziraphale to get away from his creators and start making his own decisions, and he’d wanted to hear him say that he wanted to stay but he didn’t think he could keep this Christmas thing up. “Well, you’ll always have a place with me, angel, but I don’t think this Christmas thing is for me. So- So if that’s what you want, I’ll show you how to get it.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Why in the world would I want anymore of that silliness? I'm glad you've gotten it out of your system, my dear.”

“Er.” Crowley blinked in confusion. “But- But you- you said you… You said you wanted cheer and- and good feelings. That Halloween Town didn’t have enough of that.”

“Crowley, that was... The Angels told me there wasn't, and I never got a chance to find out otherwise. And, well... I'd only ever experienced cheer and, ah, good feelings while with you. Now I know better.” Brow furrowed, Aziraphale gave him just as puzzled a look. “What does your curiosity about Christmas have to do with that?” 

Crowley’s jaw slowly dropped and hung open. “What does- _Angel_! It’s- Christmas is- _The whole point’s_ cheer and ‘good feelings!’ You said that’s what you wanted, so I found it and brought it to you.”

“You... You... _Crowley_. I only went along with all of this because you seemed so excited, and the premonition I had made me worry about you.”

“Premo- _What premonition_?”

“Oh, my.” Aziraphale stepped back, fidgeting with his ring anew. “The night before you gave everyone tasks, a prophecy appeared in one of my Christmas books and then I had a vision of a Christmas tree shattering. So I, ah, I've been trying to stay close in order to make sure nothing bad happened to you?” 

“Wha- I- You- Why didn’t you say anything?” He stepped forward, not willing to let Aziraphale get far.

“Because you seemed so _happy_ , and I- I didn't want to upset you. Besides, I assumed it was just going to be a small thing in town. I didn't know you were going to risk so much trying to steal Christmas entirely!” Aziraphale pressed the air down as if he could press his own worries and shock away. “What if you'd ended up like Scrooge or the Grinch? I was so afraid I was going to lose you to all this foolishness, and you were doing it _for_ me? Why didn't _you_ say anything?” 

“Why didn’t _I_ say anything?! Of course I was doing it for you! I wanted you to-” He wanted Aziraphale to see him as someone who could make him happy. Wanted him to see that Halloween Town wasn’t so bad. Show him how wrong the Angels were in keeping him locked away. “I just- I wanted to make you happy. And I found Christmas Town and it was all full of cheer and stuff and I thought if I got Halloween Town involved you’d want to be out more.” Crowley sighed and looked away. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I just… I thought this was what you wanted.”

“Crowley...” Aziraphale had done quite a few brave things that night. What was one more? “All I want is you.”

He stared at Aziraphale in amazement. “Me? You- You want me?” 

“Don't you know I'm never as happy as when I'm with you? Of course I want you, you ridiculous creature.” His gaze fell. “If, ah, if you want me as well. You did tell Satan you were rather more than fond of me, but I don’t want to assume.”

Crowley flushed. He’d sort of hoped Aziraphale hadn’t heard that, just in case it wasn’t okay. “Of course I- Ngk- ‘Course I do. I, erm, wouldn’t use ‘fond’ myself, really. More like-” His heart leapt to his throat and he had to swallow it down. “More like, ah, ‘love,’ I’d say.”

“Oh, Crowley...” Aziraphale didn’t quite swoon, but he swayed closer and wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck. “That's the word I'd use too.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t expected to have an armful of Aziraphale but luckily his body knew to wrap arms around his ample waist and hold him tight while his brain processed the new development. “You- You’re- You- You love me?”

“Of course I do, though I think I'd like to save telling you just how much for later. We should really return to town now.” Though he didn't step back, fingers stroking through the hair at the nape of Crowley’s neck. 

This was it. Aziraphale was in his arms, stroking the back of his neck, smiling up at him unashamed and happy. “Y-yeah… We, uh, should probably… probably go back,” Crowley whispered, slowly leaning in. “Just, ah, just gotta do somethin’ first.” He closed what was left of the short distance between their mouths, capturing Aziraphale’s lips with his in a proper kiss this time.

Aziraphale let his hands have what they wanted, grip tightening in his jacket and sliding higher into his hair to tangle in surprisingly soft strands. He was warmer than normal from their location, soaking up the heat in his cold-blooded way. It made Aziraphale want to laugh, but he didn't want to break this wonderful new connection more. 

The fingers slipping through his hair, all of Aziraphale’s plushness pressed to his sharp angles, and that warm mouth moving against his with equal enthusiasm. He broke the kiss to trail more across Aziraphale’s cheeks, panting breathy laughs between each press. “Now that’s how you do a proper kiss, angel,” Crowley rumbled, giddy and only slightly breathless.

“Well, clearly I have some learning to do.” Aziraphale giggled, eyes closing as Crowley’s lips traveled over his face. It was so new and lovely, Crowley’s laughter a thrill. “You'll have to teach me.”

Crowley snorted and pulled back far enough to touch the tips of their noses together, not wanting to go far but also wanting to see him. “Teach you? If you think I have any idea what I’m doing you haven’t been paying attention.” He gave Aziraphale a gentle squeeze. “Got plenty of time to learn, though.”

He _had_ been paying attention. Quite a bit of it, actually, and saw very clearly just how many beings wanted their Pumpkin King's affections. To be the first one to earn them was a surprise that quickly had him melting into Crowley even more. “Yes. That sounds wonderful.”

“Delighted to hear it, angel,” Crowley growled and ducked in to kiss him again, guiding Aziraphale back a set to press him to the wall in the narrow corridor. Fully prepared, willing, and able to snog his angel senseless.

“ _Oi, Satan you let_ -! Crowley?!”

Crowley pulled away with a hiss, but did not actually back up, nor let Aziraphale go. “ _Do you mind_?!”

Aziraphale ducked his head, giggling against Crowley’s neck. “Don't be mean, dearest. Well... _Too_ mean.”

He meant to grumble something about ‘showing him mean,’ but four very excited, and very irate, children had already converged upon them. They had, apparently, figured setting Sandy Claws free was their best course of action and had planned on taking on Satan themselves. Despite the interruption, Crowley was proud of their gumption even if it was a bit belated.

“Alright, alright. Time to head back. Guess I’ve played dead long enough.” 

“Probably best,” Adam said, nodding. “Gabriel’s already in the town hall causing a ruckus.”

“Says we've gotta pick a new king straight off-” 

“Even though we _could_ pick a queen,” Pepper interrupted. 

“Right,” Brian agreed. “But we need one straight off on account of all the Christmas. Been a whole two months since Halloween.”

“But now we can show you're alive, actually, and we won't need anybody new in charge.” 

Crowley nodded along with them, happy to let the kids talk and bicker amongst themselves while they made their way outside Satan's manor and back towards the town. He kept his arm around Aziraphale’s waist, reluctant to let him go and still reeling from the recent changes to their relationship.

Aziraphale was happy enough to let him, though as the crowd began to take notice of them, he started to fidget with his ring. His insecurities hadn't exactly evaporated in Satan's basement, and he wasn't entirely sure what kind of reception he'd receive being wrapped in Crowley’s rapidly cooling hold. Though when he tried to pull away to let excited beings cheer and shout about Crowley’s decidedly normal not-dead state, he was held fast. 

“Crowley!” Young Shadwell shouted into his microphone, his speakers squealing and crackling. “What're ye doin'?! Saw ye git shot!” 

“Come on now!” Crowley shouted back, grinning. “You really thought a measly human missile was enough to keep me down? After all these years you’d think you’d have more faith in your Pumpkin King!” He looked out at the crowd and kept Aziraphale tucked close. No one would dare say anything if they knew what was good for them.

Gabriel pushed his way forward, the other three Angels flanking him. “You've still wasted this town's time for two months!” 

Crowley’s grin turned sharp and pointy, fangs gleaming in the moonlight. “Really, Gabe? You think it was a waste to co-opt an entire other holiday out from under the noses of its people? Because of you all,” he waved his free arm at the crowd, “I was able to spread fear and terror all in the name of another holiday! Now, every Christmas, the humans will be able to think of nothing but the frights of Halloween! Now I don’t think that’s a waste at all.”

Some humans, anyway. Crowley might very well become another tale in Christmas Town. But Aziraphale didn't mind Crowley’s happy ending, not so far. 

Smiling, he tipped closer to him while the crowd's murmurs began to turn. Shouts, hisses, growls of approval began to arise while Gabriel’s frown turned more severe. The idea that Crowley had done it all on purpose, had effectively given them _two_ Halloween nights that year, was astounding. His actual motivation would stay between him and Aziraphale, but the town didn't need to know. The Angels in particular didn't need to know. 

“So sorry, Gabriel.” Feeling bold, Aziraphale clasped his hands. “I don't think any chart you could come up with would prove you right.”

Flames flared on the steps of Town Hall, but Tracy’s laughter beat out whatever any of the Angels may have been about to snap. “I think you're right, Mr. Aziraphale. It's been an exciting two months, and I don't know about everyone else but I've got quite a bit of inspiration for next Halloween.”

Crowley pointed at Madame Tracy dramatically. “Exactly! I’ve got a whole swamp load of new ideas!” The crowd seemed to agree, excited chatter over what they planned to do in ten months at the next Halloween spreading through the town. Crowley let the people do his work for him in spreading the news and getting everyone excited. The crowd dispersed gradually, beings breaking off into their own groups to plan and scheme. He only had to shoo off a few stragglers. “Go on, go on. Got lots to do now. Only ten months to plan everything.” He was also exhausted and ready to fall face-first into a week-long nap.

Aziraphale laughed, bobbing up to kiss his cheek. “You wily old serpent,” he fondly murmured. 

He flushed, catching Tracy giving him a knowing look. “Yeah, well, come on, you. Time to go home.” Maybe not a week-long nap, then.

“Yes, I-” Jingle bells caught his and the rest of the town's attention, everyone looking skyward to see a sleigh being guided by nine tiny reindeer. “Happy Halloween!” Santa called, booming out that deep laugh Aziraphale had found ridiculous to read, charming to actually hear. 

But it was what Santa brought the town that really charmed him. He broke away from Crowley to catch a fat flake in his palm, gasping as it melted icily in his grip. Snow fell on Halloween Town, building up quickly and sending everyone into a flurry of excited confusion. The Them twisted around Crowley, figuring out snowballs quickly and the greasy trick-or-treaters figured out rocks in snowballs just as quickly. 

In effect, they immediately made it their own as they'd done with everything else. 

Quietly curious, Aziraphale slipped through the gate to the graveyard to see what it looked like pristine and untouched. There was some sort of marvel in it, according to the books and songs, and he understood it as he made the first crunching footsteps in the freezing white powder. The headstones popping out from the snow looked like they were being blanketed, the pumpkins in the nearby patch such a bold colour under and around the crisp white. He made his way up the hill, smiling just as brightly as the moon shone onto their realm, and no multicoloured Christmas lights were needed. It was beautiful in the Halloween way. 

Crowley eventually snuck away from The Them, barely dodging errant snowballs as he skirted the edges of a five-team battleground. He brushed the freezing not-quite ice from his hair and shot a glare at the sky from which it fell. The perpetual Autumn their world existed in was chilly enough on its own. He wondered if this “Christmas magic” was some ploy on Sandy’s part to make him miserable. Well, if it was, the joke was on him. There was very little that would bring Crowley down now, and it would take more than tons of white bullshit to do it.

He’d watched Aziraphale disappear into the town, staring at the sky in wonder, and had reminded himself it was fine, Aziraphale would not go far, they were _together_ now. He still didn’t want to be apart for long, though, so at the first chance he got, he went searching.

It was… _nice_ , he could admit. The snow quickly blanketed everything and made all of Halloween Town’s sharp edges softer. He didn’t expect it to stay so pristine for long, it wasn’t their way, but he could appreciate the way it glittered in the moonlight.

Crowley found Aziraphale’s footprints in the cemetery, but by then he was a shivering wreck and the novel feel of it all had quite worn off. He very much wanted to bundle up at home next to a warm fire, something alcoholic to drink, and preferably a patchwork angel to snuggle with.

Spiral Hill was where Crowley found him. Standing under the moon with shards of white ice in his hair, little spots of damp where the flakes had melted on his shoulders and the back of his coat. Crowley approached from behind and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s middle, pressing his nose into spun curls. “What’re you doin’ all the way out here?”

“I wanted to see it all before the town wreaked its havoc.” Aziraphale turned in his hold to wind his arms around him in turn. “Oh, darling, you're _freezing_.”

Crowley nodded into his hair and tightened his grip, soaking up as much warmth as Aziraphale could provide. “Good thing I got you to keep me warm, eh?”

“Yes, you do. Oh!” Aziraphale couldn't get far with him clinging so tight and didn't particularly want to, but it was enough for him to reach into his pocket. In contrast to the messily wrapped gift Crowley had excitedly given him the afternoon after Halloween, this was wrapped neatly in shiny black paper and topped with a spider-shaped bow. “Here, you silly thing. I was going to give this to you before you went off, but things, ah, got rather distracted.”

“What’s that? A present?” He took it, not moving far either, and turned it over in his hands. It was small, and not nearly as lumpy as the tree-top angel had been, it gave easily when he squeezed it. “You got me a Christmas present?”

“Well, I made you one.” And he was pretty sure he understood why Crowley had been so very eager. There was an excited anticipation to this. “Open it.”

He tore into it, little pieces of black paper fluttering to the ground and a few even down the hill.When he was done, what lay in his hands was a pair of soft black gloves with red stitching. He squeezed them again, without the paper in the way. They were made of a much softer material than the suit, but felt like they would retain heat just the same. “Angel. You made me gloves.” He wasted no time in putting them on, the fit contouring to his long hands.

“Are they comfortable? I was surprised how easy it was to get the measurements.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands, smiling at the buttery feel under his palms. “You're a very heavy sleeper.”

“You sneaky _bastard_ ,” Crowley growled with a grin, tugging Aziraphale flush to him by the hips. “They’re perfect, and I love you.”

Aziraphale lifted up to his toes, arms looped around his neck. “I love you too, you wicked serpent.” Smiling, he pulled him into a kiss designed to keep them both nice and warm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Syl  
> I can't believe it's done 😭  
> This was a blast to write, and the feedback has been lovely  
> So thank you, everyone! And thank you to Saminander for [the art](https://saminander.tumblr.com/post/631796499994591232/my-dearest-friend-if-you-dont-mind) which started it all 💖  
> 👻 Happy Halloween!!! 🎃
> 
> ladydragona  
> I can't believe it either :')  
> This was a blast to write and Syl and I have enjoyed every single comment!  
> Please feel free to write or draw anything in this world if the inspiration strikes you, all we ask is to be tagged so we can see it 💖
> 
> Find us on tumblr at [SylWritesStuff](https://sylwritesstuff.tumblr.com/) and [theladydrgn](https://theladydrgn.tumblr.com/)! 💖

**Author's Note:**

> The fancy line-break is Lady Dragona's art! Do not use without permission!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Silk and Keys](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27300328) by [RainingPrince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingPrince/pseuds/RainingPrince)




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